I Have Named You Queen
by Dramatricks
Summary: Set before Season 2.  From a prompt on LJ.  When Quinn discovers Rachel is being abused, can she convince Rachel to be brave enough to let her help?
1. Chapter 1

The first time Rachel walked into glee a little stiffly, Quinn Fabray turned to Santana and remarked that the stick must be a little further up Rachel's ass today. They laughed while Brittany curled her lip, either in disapproval or not knowing what Quinn meant. The blonde head cheerleader would come to regret her comment, but not yet. She was too wrapped up in her own life to understand Rachel's daily routines, and too enamored with _herself_ to even care.

Ever since seventh grade, Rachel awakened at 6 a.m. every morning. A quick trip to the bathroom, and then she allowed herself to be enveloped by the harsh rhythm of the elliptical that would help propel her to stardom. Afterwards, she got into the shower, a part of her routine that had remained unchanged until a month ago. Now, she would lean against the tile and hiss when the heated spray hit a particularly tender spot on her skin. But each time she felt the sting, Rachel would smile, because she knew what it meant: that she was loved. And for a teenage girl who for so long had nothing, that meant everything.

Rachel would dry off – carefully – after the shower, then put on her favorite, soft pink robe, letting it slip around her like a hug from a favored grandmother. Usually her dads would be gone by the time she went downstairs to grab a quick breakfast, which she would then carry back upstairs to her bedroom, because it was the next part of her routine that took up the most time, and required the most precision.

The bruises faded quickly, for the most part, but not always. She would survey herself in the mirror, first, taking in which bruises were gone, and which still remained, before lining her makeup products on the edge of her bed. She'd taken to wearing a lot more makeup now. Puck said it's because she's a fox, and he waggled his eyebrows at her appreciatively. Kurt approved, while the rest of the glee club – except Quinn – was just indifferent.

Quinn had stared at her every day for the past month with something in her eyes, something _beyond_ her eyes that Rachel didn't understand.

It was okay though; she didn't need Quinn, had never needed her.

And now she had Dave.

Quinn remembered the first time she saw Karofsky – he is never _Dave_ – be nice to Rachel Berry. She had been at her locker, and turned just in time to see Rachel take a face full of grape slushie. Quinn shoved down the part of herself that felt guilty at Rachel's shocked expression, and allowed her mind to revel in the fact that Rachel Berry plus slushie facials equaled Quinn Fabray back on top of the social pyramid that was William McKinley High School. It had been a year: a year of lost homes, lost boyfriends. Swollen belly, sore breasts, soft kicks and baby weight. Birth that made Quinn swear off sex for the rest of her life, then watching as the product of feeling fat was handed off to her new mother, who would be able to love brown hair and eyes like Puck's.

But summer had been good to Quinn, at least in terms of getting rid of the baby weight, and moving back into her mother's home. It was weird, not having her father there, but Quinn was glad. No more suffocating presence, no more worrying about playing a role that required entirely too much practice. It didn't even feel like her _home_ anymore; sometimes she found herself missing the familiarity of Mercedes' house: the constant smells of something divine cooking, the laughter of Mercedes and her family as they sat around the kitchen table, Sundays at a church where she was the only white girl but no one cared, and where she began to learn what that kind of love actually _was_.

Not that she applied that love when she started the next school year, though. Outside was one thing; _inside_ William McKinley High School, Quinn was more than happy to play the role set before her. It was the only one she knew, and it only required one costume: red and white, black letters on the front, with a ridiculously short skirt showing off ridiculously gorgeous legs that kept football players hanging on.

So she was… disconcerted could have worked, but in reality Quinn was _pissed_… when she saw, just after Rachel Berry received her customary baptism by corn syrup, Dave Karofsky bend down and _pick up_ the books that Rachel had dropped in her shock. Quinn knew that Rachel was shocked because before she'd given birth, Quinn had managed to maintain a friendship with Rachel that was at least cordial, if not directly friendly. So naturally Rachel must have assumed that the slushie facials would stay away once the new school year started.

She underestimated Quinn's feelings about the petite diva with the huge voice.

Quinn watched, lips tightened in thinly-veiled anger, as Karofsky had picked up Rachel's books, then arranged them in a neat pile, holding them out to her. Rachel, to her credit, looked at Karofsky suspiciously; he'd been one of her primary tormentors – on Quinn's orders. But Dave actually _smiled_ and said something to Rachel, which made her laugh, and Quinn seethed. How dare he disrupt the routine? She'd have to knock him down a peg later. Then she was given the second surprise of her life (second only to finding out she was pregnant) when Dave offered his arm to Rachel, and she allowed herself to be escorted to her locker to get her clean-up supplies.

"What the fuck was that all about?" Santana said from her position at Quinn's right shoulder.

"How should I know?" Quinn snapped. "I'm not Berry's keeper."

"You sound like you don't like it," Brittany said perceptively, and Quinn had to agree with her.

She didn't like it one bit.

Every morning for the past month, Rachel ate her breakfast while mapping out the most strategic route for covering herself; her makeup collection now rivaled that of a counter at Bloomingdale's. Concealer and blush, lipstick and powder; Rachel never used to wear this much before. Dave liked her in makeup; he said it made her look like his special angel. Plus, well, she needed all of it.

Rachel liked that he took such interest in her looks. He was a little silly, but romantic. He played "Earth Angel" for her once, in his truck when he took her home, and sang along. She'd never tell him that he couldn't sing, though. When he'd asked her out after a week of escorting her to and from classes, she'd been a little wary, but for some reason, Dave had this disarming smile that had made her feel like she was the only one in the room. And after going unnoticed by _everyone_ for so long, Rachel was so glad to finally have _someone_ who made her feel wanted – even if it was Dave Karofsky.

The makeup routine would take thirty minutes before she was satisfied, once again surveying herself in the mirror. Blue and purple fading shades of green and yellow have given way to creamy, tan skin, and she would smile, tracing a tube of pink over her lips. A quick curl of her hair, settling it onto her shoulders the way Dave liked it. She had given up on her sweaters – Dave didn't like them; so she started wearing simple button-up shirts and jeans. She always made sure to pack an extra outfit, and to put her Ziploc of makeup into her little pink rolling case. She was always prepared… for anything. She'd finish it up with her favorite, well-worn shoes, and Rachel Berry was ready to face her day.

On some days, at least one of her dads was still home to take her to school. On most days, Rachel walked. She liked those days, when the weather was good; liked being able to feel the wind in her hair, hear the birds sing, smile and wave at neighbors – who don't even know her name – as she passed by. She loved the freedom.

But no matter how she arrived to school, she always walked in the front door the same way: head held high, chin jutted out in defiance, and a smile on her face. It was the only way she'd get through the day. But now Dave was always waiting for her when she got there, and he made everything better.

Karofsky had never called Rachel his girlfriend, because he'd never really officially asked her, but she knew he loved her. He hugged her every time he saw her, and he always kept his arm around her when they're at school. His kisses were soft and gentle, and he didn't pressure her for sex – which was a little bit surprising to Rachel. But she was grateful for it; after the fiascos with Finn, Puck, and Jesse, she wasn't ready for that.

She loved the way Dave took care of her. She loved the way he started texting her every hour to make sure she was okay. She loved the way he sometimes took her home after school, and that he cared enough to stay with her for a little while before her dads came home. She confessed to herself that even though she doesn't like disobeying her fathers about "no boys" while they're not home, it made her feel good that she has someone to come home _with_. Someone who cared about her as much as Dave seemed to. She liked it that he emailed her all the time, and would find her on instant messenger late at night "just to check" on her. It was nice to have someone who wanted to sit with her at lunch and walk her to all of her classes.

Dave was sweet in the way that he kept others away from Rachel, because he knew how much they'd hurt her – he'd been one of them, after all, even though he'd never apologized for the role he played in tormenting her. He was really good at making sure that she didn't talk too much, because he said that she doesn't need to let glee and Broadway take up so much of her life, when all she really needed was for them to be together.

And she did need them to be together.

Everyone else had left Rachel. She didn't want Dave to leave, too.

So she didn't mind that walking to class that day hurt a little bit more than normal. It was a reminder, the constant ache of just how much Dave loved her. And so maybe she did suck air through her teeth when she sat down and her back touched the hard plastic of the chair, but at the same time, it made her heart swell.

She noticed Quinn watching her.

"Can I help you?" Rachel asked politely.

Quinn was the queen, she was a commoner; formality was the rule.

"Are you all right?" Quinn was surprised that she even asked the question. "You look like… you're in pain?"

A flicker of something that Quinn couldn't place slid over Rachel's eyes, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. "Of course," Rachel said easily, "I'm fine. Thank you," she added, almost as an afterthought.

Glee proceeded on as normal, with Rachel dominating the conversation and the ideas, and singing along boisterously, as usual, with whatever song Schuester had chosen for the "lesson" that day. But she didn't dance. She didn't get up out of her chair, and even though her voice was soaring and fresh, Rachel never moved an inch.

Quinn briefly wondered why she had even stared at Rachel long enough to notice that.

Dave was waiting for Rachel after glee, standing across the door, against a locker with his arms folded over his chest and a smirk on his face. Quinn got to him first, deciding that a month of this _bullshit_ was enough.

"What do you think you're doing?" she snarled.

"I could ask you the same thing," Rachel said, coming up next to Dave and tucking a small hand into the crook of his arm.

"Stay out of this, RuPaul," Quinn snapped. She fixed her glare on Karofsky. "Have you forgotten who's in charge here?"

Dave snorted. "Shut it, Fabray. Unlike you, I actually care about people."

"Since when?"

"Quinn, I simply cannot stand here and allow you to speak to Dave that way," Rachel began, faltering when Dave shook his head at her. "No, Dave, I'm not going to let her." She turned back to Quinn, not seeing the way the boy's eyes darkened in her direction.

"I'm sorry, Quinn, that you find it so hard to believe that someone actually might show an interest in me, especially since you've made it your mission, throughout my high school experience, to 'show me'" – Dear god, Quinn thought, she even did the air quotes – "that no one gives a damn about me. But Dave does, and you're just going to have to accept that, and move on with your life."

Dave grinned at Quinn, then turned back to Rachel. "Ready to go home, baby?"

Rachel's heart skipped a beat; it was the first time Dave had called her that. "Sure, sweetheart," she agreed, and allowed Dave to grasp her arm with his fingers, propelling her towards the front door. If Dave's fingers were a little tight and his pull a little rough, Rachel didn't say anything. She knew no one would notice anyway.

But she was wrong. Someone noticed, and that someone didn't understand why she felt a little stab of worry, watching the brunette girl disappear into a sea of students.

The first time Dave had hit Rachel, it had been because she'd talked to Finn. She knew that Dave didn't like Finn for several reasons, the most important one being that he was Rachel's ex-boyfriend. She tried to explain to Dave that she'd only talked to him because they had a routine they needed to work on for the next meeting of the glee club, but Dave was angry and his years as a hockey player had given him strength that more than matched his size.

He cried afterward, as the bruise started forming along Rachel's jawline. He said that he was sorry, he just wanted her to know that no one could ever love Rachel the way he did, and that she shouldn't talk to Finn, because all Finn wanted to do was get inside her pants, and then he'd leave Rachel again, just like everyone else had, and did Rachel want that?

No. Rachel definitely did not want that. Her life had just been one long string of being left behind: her fathers were barely present, Finn, Puck, Jesse, then Finn again – they'd all left. And her mother? The donor of her DNA? That had hurt the most; that had been almost _visceral_, especially since Shelby had given up Rachel in order to adopt _Beth_, the daughter of Rachel's worst enemy. But Dave was here, even though her jaw hurt something fierce, and he promised that he wouldn't ever leave.

So she wrapped her arms around Dave and soothed him, telling him that it was okay, she understood, and that she loved him so much for looking out for her and keeping her away from the people that would, in the end, only hurt her.

The next day, Dave brought her flowers to school. She hated roses, but it was the first time anyone had ever done anything like that for her, and she had to fight to keep the tears from running down her face, reminding herself that crying would ruin her makeup. And when Finn came up to talk to Rachel, she simply wrapped her hands around Dave's protective arm and told Finn that she was no longer his friend, and to please not talk to her outside of glee. Finn stared after them, befuddled, as they walked away, and he turned around just in time to catch Quinn's eye. She shrugged at him, and he wished that she cared, for once.

Dave started to always bring her something the day after he hit her. Rachel couldn't believe that he was so thoughtful; none of her previous boyfriends ever did anything like that for her. And he did make somewhat of an effort to find out just what she liked, she told her fathers – who don't like Dave for some reason, but Rachel chalked that up to over-protectiveness. He bought Rachel Broadway cds that she already had, she had an entire room full of "I'm sorry, I love you" cards now, and he bought her stuffed animals. She didn't really _like_ stuffed animals after that stupid Lady GaGa performance, but when she innocently told Dave he backhanded her and called her ungrateful, and she had to Google how to cover up a busted lip.

So she accepted all the stuffed animals with a smile, just like she smiled when Dave insisted that she take down all of the glee club pictures in her room. He helped her take them down, even though he'd rather she threw them away, but Rachel said she'll just keep them in the box under her bed. He kissed her then, telling her that he was so proud of her, and that she was his special angel, and once again saying that no one in glee could ever care about her the way he did.

She knew he was right. No one in glee ever gave her a second look.

After the encounter with Dave in the hallway, Quinn resolved to step up the attacks on Rachel. It was less to punish Karofsky than it was to remind Rachel of her place: she'd always be on the bottom of the dumpster pile, and any attempt to rise above that place would have to be met with harsh resistance.

Except… Quinn didn't follow through with it. In fact, she didn't even start it. She didn't call off the slushie attacks, either; after all, she had to make sure there was no pretense of her even _caring_ about manhands. Even if her heart _did_ clench every time she saw the ice and liquid make contact with Rachel's face, which made her scrunch up her face in confusion, and so she forced herself to laugh each time.

If Quinn was being honest with herself, she would have admitted that she was worried about Rachel. There was something… wrong. Santana, of all people, had been the first one to notice.

"Have you seen the way Rachel's been acting?"

Quinn shut her locker door and stared down the Latina with what she hoped was her best "bitch" look, because the question unnerved her. "Of course I haven't," she said. "I don't make it a habit to notice losers."

"Uh-huh," Santana shot her a withering look. "I'm just saying, something's… different."

"I don't care?"

"Quinn," Brittany admonished gently. "Do me a favor."

"What?" Quinn sighed, knowing that when Brittany's lower lip jutted out, everyone in her path was powerless to deny her whatever she wanted.

"Just watch Rachel in glee today, please? I know we don't like Rachel and we've been pretty mean to her." At least Santana had the decency to wince along with Quinn, at this point. "But I really do think something's not right."

"Fine," Quinn sighed again. "But you're paying for my optometry bills when I go blind from looking at her."

"Okay," Brittany chirped happily, and Quinn couldn't help but laugh.

At first things hadn't seemed that different. Rachel was still her obnoxious self, traipsing into the glee room with a confident smile on her face. She greeted everybody in turn, even casting a glance and a small, barely perceptible nod in Quinn's direction. Rachel ignored Finn's lifted hand, and Quinn felt sorry for the boy; he'd been trying to get Rachel to acknowledge him for weeks now, to no avail. Still, Quinn thought she detected a hint of sadness in Rachel's eyes when the other girl saw Finn's hand, but it was gone when Rachel simply turned around and sat in her chair, away from the others.

That was weird, too, Quinn realized. Even though most of the glee club – her included, she thought, not fighting the guilt this time – hadn't ever really cared for Rachel, except maybe after the egging incident (and even then Quinn suspected the only reason they cared was because they hadn't thought of it first), Rachel had always made it a point to sit next to or near at least one glee kid. Now, her chair was slid to the left, at least a foot away from anyone else. Quinn leaned across Brittany and met Santana's eyes, tilting her head towards Rachel. Santana followed her gaze, and years of being Quinn's second in command paid off when she knew exactly what Quinn was thinking, and she nodded.

Then there was the makeup. Rachel hadn't necessarily been… ugly, Quinn conceded. Well, her nose was too big and her clothes were horrific, but… she had a nice smile. Her eyes were really pretty too, and when she was happy they seemed to light up and sparkle. Quinn sat up straighter in her chair, as she tried to remember when she'd started thinking about Rachel's eyes enough to know that they did _that_. But as she looked at Rachel's eyes that day in glee, she noticed that there was no sparkle. Rachel's makeup was heavy, and it would have been considered garish on almost anyone else, but she seemed to know how to put it on that least, and so, while it was a lot, it looked nice. It just didn't look like Rachel.

Quinn preferred the Rachel with hardly any makeup, just a hint of lip gloss and a natural blush to her cheeks that sometimes stretched all the way up to the tips of her ears.

She tried not to think about _why_ she "preferred" Rachel that way at all.

Her clothes had changed too, and that was the only thing that Quinn could really concede had been for the better. Gone was the hideous argyle and disgusting owl sweaters, replaced by blue jeans and mostly tee-shirts, although sometimes Rachel wore long-sleeved blouses. In fact she was wearing a deep purple long-sleeved shirt today, even though it was seventy degrees outside.

Other than that, glee went about as usual, with Rachel actually standing up while she participated this time, even if she did seem more subdued and stood off a little ways from the others. But she laughed as they all spent the last few minutes joking around, and Quinn was relieved to see a little bit of light return to Rachel's eyes – but not at all relieved to realize that she smiled because of it.

She was rescued from her own thoughts, though, by what happened next.

Rachel actually cracked a joke at some point, and though Quinn was so lost inside herself she didn't hear what it was, she was jerked back to reality by the loud laughter of the friends around her. Mercedes smiled and said something sarcastic to Rachel, and swatted the girl's arm with the back of her hand.

Rachel cried out and backed up so hastily against the wall she thumped against it, causing her to cry out yet again. The club fell silent and turned to her. Rachel was wide-eyed, breathing heavily, and looked… positively terrified.

"Rachel?" Mercedes said, and took a step forward. "What-?"

"Don't!" Rachel said sharply. "Don't, please don't…"

"Rachel, what the hell?" Kurt said. "You act like we're going to beat you or something."

Rachel just took another look at them, and spun out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Brittany looked at Santana, who looked at Quinn, who looked down at Rachel's purse and books, still on the floor by her chair.

"Should we go after her?" Puck said.

He was met by a series of "I'm not going," and Quinn found herself huffing.

"_I'll_ go," she said, and glared at the others, who stared at her in disbelief. "_What_? She… she left her books." She gestured weakly, then picked them up.

"You don't even know where she went," Finn pointed out.

Quinn rolled her eyes. She knew Rachel was in the bathroom. That's where she always went, after… Quinn wouldn't let herself think about that. Not right now.

She made her way to the abandoned bathroom and cautiously opened the door, tucking her head around the gap and peering in, unsure of what she would find. She laughed at herself a little, feeling like a girl in a horror movie about to get slashed to death. Quinn sobered though, when she saw Rachel, hands gripping the middle sink and shaking.

"Rachel?"

She jumped and whirled around, taking a deep breath and clenching her fists to steady them, upon seeing Quinn.

"You left your books and your purse," Quinn said awkwardly, holding them out.

Rachel sniffed and then drew herself up to her full height – which wasn't saying much. Her chin lifted and she nodded, accepting her purse and books.

"Thank you, Quinn."

"Rachel," Quinn took a step forward, nervously twining a golden blonde ponytail around her finger. "What happened back—"

"Nothing," Rachel said, a little too loudly, wincing as it reverberated in the silent acoustics of the bathroom. "Nothing," she said again, quieter. "I just got startled, that's all."

"Why?"

"I just did," Rachel exclaimed, then closed her eyes. She reopened them and took a deep breath.

"Quinn, I appreciate your… concern, although I have to admit I'm more than a little reluctant to regard your attention as noble. After all, you have not, since last year, shown any kind of concern for my wellbeing, so I'm rather mystified as to why you'd start now."

Quinn was about to interrupt yet another instance of Berry word vomit, but, customary to Rachel's style, she plowed ahead.

"But I assure you that I am perfectly fine. Perhaps I've not been getting enough sleep, or perhaps I need to perfect my diet a little bit more, to ensure that I'm not as… jittery, tomorrow. But nothing happened, and I am fine. Now, if you'll excuse me, Dave is waiting outside to take me home." She pushed past Quinn and walked towards the door.

"Is _he_ hurting you?" She was barely able to conceal the venom in the question.

She didn't know where the question had come from, and apparently neither did Rachel, judging by the way the girl stilled and her fingers tightened, just briefly, around the door handle.

"Of course not," Rachel said, recovering. She opened the door, not looking back at Quinn. "Dave _loves_ me."

Quinn watched Rachel's retreating back, then stormed out of the bathroom and headed back towards the glee room. She needed to talk to Brittany and Santana. She had a hunch.

She hoped to God she was wrong.

The next day, though, Quinn's jaw dropped in shock when Rachel stood in front of the club, and informed them that she was quitting.

"You're _what_?" she said; feeling everyone's eyes on her, she swallowed hard and tried to affect an air of nonchalance. She failed, miserably.

"Rachel, why are you leaving?" Mr. Schuester asked. "You know that we need you."

"You need me," mumbled Rachel, so low that Quinn had to strain to hear her. "But you don't _want_ me."

"That's not true," Mr. Schuester said. "We all want you to stay. Don't we, guys?"

They grumbled their assent, in a detached way that made Quinn sick to her stomach. She found herself staring at Rachel, trying to telepathically send her an apology… and a plea. To stay.

Why did she even want her to stay? This was _perfect_. She'd finally have manhands out of her way, for good. Except that the thought made her want to throw up, rather than cheer.

To Quinn's surprise, Rachel smiled at her a little, a knowing look on her face. She knew they didn't want her, knew Quinn didn't want her, and… she was accepting it. Graciously, because Rachel Barbra Berry didn't know any other way.

Hold your head high and smile, even if your heart was being ripped out of your chest while it was still beating.

"It's in my best interest to leave," Rachel said softly. "I know that all of you will be just fine without me, and you'll probably be glad that I won't be hijacking all of the solos anymore."

"Well, that will be a plus," Kurt admitted.

Quinn wanted to slap the smirk right off of his face. She wanted to slap all of them. Including herself.

Rachel nodded at Kurt, still smiling a little. "I wish all of you luck at sectionals; I look forward to hearing that you've kicked Vocal Adrenaline in the balls." She turned to Mr. Schuester. "Thank you for being such a great teacher, Mr. Schuester. I'll see you in Spanish class tomorrow."

"Rachel, wait," Mr. Schuester said, his hand reaching out, but Rachel jerked out of the way of his touch, then settled herself as her smile widened, turning and leaving the room.

She had to get to the bathroom and wipe the tears away before it ruined her makeup and someone saw the bruises. Then, she needed to find Dave. Rachel needed to find her Dave, and let him know that she'd done as he'd asked of her.

She'd left behind the most important thing in her life: glee.

But it was okay. She only needed Dave, and he was waiting for as she walked out of the school, a beaming smile on his face. The smile disappeared, though, when Rachel made the mistake of saying that she hadn't really wanted to leave glee.

Dave cried on his knees in front of her in the parking lot, as Rachel stared above his head, trying not to taste metallic blood in her mouth. But she forgave him. She always forgave him.

Back in the glee room, everyone else filtered out, quiet with confusion and a little shame at how easily they'd let Rachel leave. Quinn was left behind with her thoughts, interrupted only when she felt Brittany and Santana sit on either side.

"As much as I hate to say it," Santana said, tilting her head against the back of her chair and closing her eyes, "This isn't right. I don't like Rachel, but I hate that Neanderthal boyfriend of hers, and I can almost bet you that he's the reason she left."

"We should do something," Brittany suggested.

Santana shook her head. "Nothing we _can_ do, B."

Quinn lifted her head then. A rush of images assaulted her: Rachel's eyes, mournful and dull; Rachel's white knuckles as she clutched a door handle; Rachel, pressed up against a wall in fear.

_Karofsky_.

She had to find out. Quinn hoped she was just overreacting. But if she wasn't… she was going to kill him.

She wanted not to care.

She couldn't do anything but care.


	2. Chapter 2

Unfortunately for Quinn, finding out _anything_ about what was going on with Rachel was proving to be difficult, because the hulking football player was always around. It had begun to be somewhat of a school joke: if you couldn't find Rachel, find Karofsky, and vice versa.

Quinn hated it, telling herself it was just because she didn't like to see anyone being hurt – even though she didn't know that was what was going on. Still, something had to be going on, because ever since Rachel had quit glee, the formerly effervescent (to everyone's annoyance) 16-year-old had slowly turned into a shadow of herself.

The students of WMHS were used to seeing Rachel Berry walking with her head down, slushie dripping off her face and hair; Quinn knew she had been to blame for that. But this time, it was different. As an "experiment," Quinn told herself, she put a moratorium on the slushie facials of Rachel Berry. (Every other loser in the school was fair game; Quinn hadn't totally lost her inner bitch quite yet.) She had hoped that Rachel would be able to walk through the halls with her head higher, as she had done just before the end of last year, but it didn't happen.

Rachel walked to all of her classes with Karofsky's hand circling her arm, and her eyes glued to the linoleum below her.

Glee club felt Rachel's loss keenly, at least talent-wise. Tina and Mercedes were amazing, of course, and Finn and Puck were able to hold their own as far as male vocals were concerned. But there was something that Rachel had brought to the club that wasn't just her singing, and now, for some reason, despite the fact that all of them had at one time wanted Rachel gone, their morale was low.

"Remind me again why we care, though," Santana said over lunch.

Quinn tore her eyes away from Rachel, who was smiling – only a little – as Karofsky teasingly fed her a french fry. She had been trying to figure out Santana's question herself: why _did_ she care? She thought she could attribute it to her screwed up hormones of the last year; first she'd started out hating Rachel, then Rachel was really the only one who treated her normally, once "babygate" had broken wide open and tore Quinn's life apart. They'd forged an uneasy alliance, born more out of two misfits needing an ally than actually wanting the other's friendship.

And then the summer had come. Summer, fresh with the loss of Beth, Quinn trying to figure out how to adjust to that and moving back into her mother's home. For all her mother's words when Quinn had gone into labor and subsequently given her daughter up for adoption, Judy Fabray was notably absent from her house on a daily basis. There was always some function or another to attend to; she had explained it to her daughter as needing to "keep up appearances" of normalcy, even though Russell Fabray was now (temporarily, at least) residing in the Hampton Inn downtown. Quinn guessed that keeping up appearances didn't include appearing to care about her 16-year-old daughter who desperately needed her mother more than ever.

It had happened gradually, really. She'd be sitting at home, bored out of her mind but too depressed to call any of her friends to go out. Santana and Brittany did come over every now and then, but Quinn knew that only Brittany was really glad to visit, Santana only going because her… _friend_ insisted on it. Still, she was grateful, because when Santana and Brittany were there, she didn't have to think about Rachel.

Because on the days when she was bored and sad and there was no one in sight to give a damn about Quinn Fabray (because she had never given a damn about _them_), she'd find herself thinking about the petite obnoxious diva with the huge nose and horrendous clothes.

And Quinn would miss her. She'd pick up her phone and scroll through the contact list, stopping on Rachel's number, and contemplate calling her. But she never did, because even though they had been sort-of friends during the school year, Quinn was intent on regaining her status for the new year, and that status would not include Rachel Berry.

But she couldn't stop thinking about her.

"Because Quinn likes her," she heard Brittany say, and Quinn snapped back to attention.

"What? No, I don't," she said, flustered.

Brittany smiled wisely, and Quinn wondered how the usually dim cheerleader always had the power to unnerve her with her perception. She leaned across the table, sliding her hand on top of Quinn's. "Think about Karofsky hurting Rachel," she said simply, and Quinn growled low in her throat before she could stop herself. Brittany sat up, satisfied.

"If Karofsky _is_ hurting her, what are you going to do, Q?"

Quinn answered without even needing to think. "Whatever Santana wants to do to the fucker."

Santana grinned, a malicious glint to her eyes. "I like that answer."

"See?" Brittany said. "You do like her, Q."

"Okay," Quinn admitted. "She's a… she's a good person." It sounded lame, even to her ears. "I don't like to see anybody hurt."

Brittany shook her head. "You want to be Rachel's girlfriend."

"I do _not_!" Quinn said hotly.

"Oh my god." Santana's eyes went wide. "You _do_. What the fuck, Q?"

"I do _not_ want to be manhands'… _girlfriend_," Quinn hissed.

She leaned over to the two girls, glaring at them. "I do not like RuPaul, got that? I just know that we need her for sectionals, because we don't have a snowball's chance in hell of winning without her. We've _got_ to figure out how to get her back into glee."

"Uh… huh," Santana drawled, smirking. "So, your sudden interest in Berry is just because you're looking out… for _glee_."

Quinn stared down at her hands, hoping she'd sound convincing. "For glee, that's all."

Santana and Brittany shared a look, and Brittany asked, "Okay, but… how are we going to do that? I mean, everybody made it clear that they… _we_ don't want her."

Quinn sighed. "I have no idea."

"Let's kidnap her," Brittany suggested.

Quinn could only stare at her.

By some stroke of luck – perhaps God finally decided to forgive her for being a bitch, and send a little help her way – Quinn found out a week later that Karofsky was out of commission due to swine flu (oh, the irony), and would be for two weeks. _Perfect_.

She cornered Rachel just before lunch, _finally_. It was like the girl was a damn enigma; even though she and Quinn had three classes together, there was no way to talk to her then, and she always seemed to disappear into thin air right after. So she figured it was yet another sign from God – or the pending apocalypse – that Rachel was still at her locker when the lunch bell rang.

"Hey, Rachel!" Quinn said, a little too cheerfully. _Tone it down, Fabray_, she ordered herself.

Rachel, for her part, looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "Oh, hi, Quinn," she said, trying to find some of her usual bravado, and failing.

"You okay?" Quinn asked, furrowing her brow.

"Yes, I'm fine," Rachel said unconvincingly. "It's just… Dave's not here, so it's a little weird."

Quinn arched an eyebrow in understanding. Rachel had no idea how to behave with Karofsky not right beside her. Leading her by her arm to every class, opening her locker for her, carrying her books, deciding what she would eat for lunch (She'd noticed that once when she ended up behind the couple in the lunch line.) It was… _sickening_. She took a deep breath, and managed a smile around the fury that was welling up in her – and the confusion about _why_ she was furious.

"Why don't you come and eat lunch with me and Brittany?"

Rachel regarded her warily. "And Santana."

"Well, yeah," Quinn laughed, the sound seeming too loud. "Santana comes with the package that is Brittany."

"Santana doesn't like me. And neither do you."

_Neither do you_. Quinn sighed. Rachel was right. She'd never really liked her, and she couldn't understand why she all of a sudden had this overwhelming urge to find out if the brunette girl was okay, to make _sure_ she was okay. She shook her head, deciding to level with her.

"Look, Rachel," she said, and was surprised when her voice was calm, and even gentle. "You left glee, and you pretty much shocked everybody. We're… " She sighed again. "I'm worried about you."

Rachel pursed her lips and looked down at the floor, then raised her eyes to meet Quinn's. "I'm fine," she said, a little bit of the old Rachel coming into her voice. "Nothing's wrong. We just—I decided that quitting glee was a good thing for me."

Quinn crossed her arms and glared at Rachel, the use of the word "we" not escaping her. To her surprise, Rachel automatically ducked her head under her intense gaze.

"Please, Quinn," and her voice was again so soft Quinn could barely hear her. "I'm fine. Don't pretend to care when you really don't. I can't take that again."

Rachel walked off, leaving Quinn to figure out why that _again_ stung her heart, in some place that she had thought was long dead.

She took a deep breath. On to phase 2. There was just one problem.

What the hell was phase 2?

She decided to text Rachel, still having the girl's number in her phone from their time together at glee. She scrolled through her contacts, wincing when she saw the entry. _RuPaul_. She narrowed her eyes and deleted the letters, replacing them with _Rachel_. Loading up the screen, she typed quickly, fingers flying across the buttons with all the expertise of a teenager nursed on technology.

**Sorry, Rachel. Just want to make sure u r ok. I do care. Want 2 hang out l8r?**

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed and Quinn opened it eagerly.

**No. Will be at Dave's after school. – R**

Quinn slapped her locker in frustration.

There are times in every person's life, just when they think that everything is going wrong, that fate somehow lays a hand, or the stars align, or chakras are equal… whatever it is, things happen and a person is never the same, for better or worse. For the rest of Quinn Fabray's life, she will thank God for a Wednesday afternoon, a stupid freshman football player, and an extra-large cup full of grape slushie.

It was between fifth and sixth period, and Quinn had given up on ever finding out what was going on with Rachel Berry. The girl was increasingly distracted, had stopped answering questions in any of her classes (her teachers were at the same time worried and grateful for the silence), never looked anyone in the eyes when they spoke to her, and a couple of times, Quinn had caught the girl startled, jumping when someone slammed a locker door particularly hard. And she knew that Rachel spent at least two out of the available four minutes between each class calling and checking in with Dave.

But there was nothing she could do, save keep an eye out and hope that nothing overt would happen, because she didn't really have a game plan about what she would do _then_. Though she lay awake in bed after dark and imagined being Rachel's knight in charming Cheerios uniform (and she would deny it to her _grave_ that she imagined that), it never went further than sweeping Rachel up in her arms (walking next to her… walking. Definitely walking) and carrying her… where? There was nowhere they would be able to go, and besides, she was Quinn Fabray and she did _not_ think about Rachel Berry all the time.

Quinn had the distinct impression that she was up a river in Egypt without a paddle, where Rachel was concerned.

The moratorium on Rachel's slushies still held strong, and Quinn was grateful for it. But sometimes freshmen are too eager to impress, too eager to take their place in the hierarchy, and they make mistakes. Mistakes that resulted in Quinn rounding a corner on her way to her locker, flanked by Brittany and Santana, just in time to see a wash of purple reacquaint itself with Rachel's face.

Immediately Quinn's eyes swept the crowd and found the culprit, a thin, pimply-faced redhead who was laughing, until he caught her eye, and the smile faded immediately. Oh yes, she still had it, and Quinn smirked, striding up to him.

"Name," was all she said to him.

"Uh, uh, Robertson," he swallowed hard.

"Tell me, Robertson, do you know what the gauntlet is?" she asked, referring to the football team's "initiation" of new members in the locker room, which meant running naked through a line of wet, snapping towels – ten times.

"Uh… no?"

She leaned in to him, letting her breath catch his ear, and he shivered, whether out of fear or arousal she didn't care. She played them both to perfection. "You're going to find out," she murmured, and then she snapped her fingers, literally _snapped_ her fingers, and instantly Robertson was surrounded by the football team, a look of horror on his face as he was ushered off to the locker room.

Quinn turned her attention to Rachel, who was standing stock-still in the same position she'd been in seconds ago, mouth open and ice dripping into her eyes. Quinn shook her head and grabbed a towel out of her locker. She told herself she kept that towel for practice, but it was really because she remembered the one time _she_ had been slushied, and even Quinn Fabray had a little fear of it happening again. All it would take was one shift of the hierarchy, and she could be back on the bottom. Best to be prepared.

Rachel, in her shock that a slushie had occurred after such a respite, didn't seem to register any of the three Cheerios approaching her, Brittany cooing over her, until Quinn stepped over and very gently brought the towel to her eyes, wiping away the slushie. Rachel's head jerked up and she backed away, her hands out in front of her.

"Don't," she hissed. "Don't _touch_ me…." Her voice trailed off when she saw Quinn staring at her.

Quinn glanced down at the towel, at the bright purple of the slushie, and the softer, muted tone of concealer, then looked back at Rachel. There was still purple around her eye… vague purple that wasn't colored corn syrup.

Purple that was a barely visible bruise because of all the makeup, a bruise that looked deep and… _fuck, __**fist-shaped**__…_ and next to her, Quinn heard Santana breathe "Oh, _hell_ no," and Brittany's soft whimper.

Quinn didn't know what to say. Her hands were twisting the towel, her teeth were clenched and she honestly had no idea _what to say_.

Thank God there was Brittany. Ever-so-slowly, the girl sidled herself up to Rachel. She waited for what seemed to be a long moment; Rachel seemed to be shell-shocked, and so Brittany slid an arm around her shoulders.

"Rachel?" She said quietly, and Rachel blinked, focus coming back into her eyes. She looked at Brittany and tried to pull away, but Brittany held fast. "Rachel, baby, what did he do to you?"

Quinn's hand flew out to clutch at Santana's arm, and to her surprise, Santana covered Quinn's hand with her own, as Rachel slid to her knees with a moan, one hand over her eye and the other over her mouth.

"Don't look at me, Brittany," she said. "Please…"

They were attracting a crowd, and this woke Quinn up out of her horror-induced stupor, and she whirled around. "Move it," she barked. "Or I swear to God I'll slushie each and every one of you personally for the rest of the year."

It was an empty threat; she knew it, Santana knew it, but the crowd didn't, and dispersed quickly – either because of her words, or because there was only 1 minute left until 6th period. Quinn turned back to Rachel, who was still in a huddle on the floor, not letting go of her face, as if she could block out their knowledge of the bruise, or somehow make it go away of her own volition. Quinn knelt down in front of her.

"Rachel," she said quietly. "Are your dads home?"

This terrified Rachel, and she launched into a patented Berry babble. "They don't need to know anything, I can explain, it's not his fault—"

Quinn caught Santana, out of the corner of her eye, tightening her fists.

"Later," she murmured, and her second in command nodded, grateful for the promise of inflicting damage.

"It's not his fault," Rachel was still saying. "He loves me."

Quinn shook her head. "Rachel, that's not love."

This time Rachel did tear her hand away and Quinn winced, not just at the angry bruise, but at the angry flare in the girl's brown eyes. "How do _you_ know what love is, Quinn Fabray?" She demanded. "Have you ever loved anything but _yourself_ in your life?"

Almost unconsciously, Quinn's hands drifted to her stomach, cupping the emptiness there. "Yes, Rachel," she said honestly. She _had_ once loved something… she still did.

"Rachel," this time the voice was Santana's. "Look, Berry, the three of us might not have been the nicest to you—" Rachel snorted, and Santana sighed. "Okay, fine. We're bitches. We've treated you like shit since we were 12 years old. You don't have to trust us if you don't want to, but I'm telling you, that bruise on your face? That is _not_ cool, Berry. It's just not."

Once again Brittany surprised Quinn and Santana, and Rachel squeaked when she found herself hoisted into the air, cradled in Brittany's arms like a baby. She strode forward purposefully, Quinn and Santana in pursuit, until they reached the front doors of the school. She lifted one flexible, well-toned leg, and kicked the door open, maneuvering her and Rachel outside.

Brittany turned, seeing Santana and Quinn standing behind her, confused expressions on their faces.

"We're going to Rachel's house," she said quietly, "And we're getting to the bottom of this."

Santana made a mental note to get to the bottom of why Brittany seemed to be so affected by it all.

"Brittany, this is really unnecessary," Rachel protested weakly.

"Tough shit," Brittany said, and Quinn's mouth dropped open. "Quinn? Your car or Santana's?"

"Mine," Quinn said immediately. "You and Santana can follow in her car."

"I'm not going!" Rachel tried to extricate herself from Brittany's grasp, but Santana knew full well (and Quinn knew exactly how Santana knew) that the tall girl was freakishly strong.

"Don't worry, Rachel," Brittany said gently, stroking her hair. "We're going to take care of you."

Rachel closed her eyes. "I don't need you. _Dave_ takes care of me."

Quinn opened her passenger side door, and Brittany bent low, tucking Rachel into the seat and fastening the seat belt. She squatted down and looked into the girl's brown eyes. "My aunt used to have eyes like yours," she said, and everyone knew that Brittany wasn't talking about the color. "My uncle, you see."

She smiled a little sadly, feeling Santana's hand on her back. "We're going to your house, Rach, okay?"

Rachel paused, biting her lip, then nodded. Brittany smiled wider and kissed the girl's forehead.

Once in the car, Quinn started it and pulled out of the parking lot, turning in the direction of Rachel's house. Rachel didn't ask how Quinn knew which way to go, and Quinn was glad she didn't have to explain that she still remembered Rachel's address from a sleepover four years ago.

She tried not to remember that by the time Rachel had woken up the morning after that sleepover, Santana, Brittany and Quinn were already gone, having left a note.

**Thanks for the lousy time, tranny. We hope to never do it again. Loser.**

Quinn sighed. Breaking a girl's heart, the result of a stupid game of Truth or Dare during Cheerios camp. She hated herself at that moment.

"Rachel—" She began.

"No. I have no interest in anything you want to say. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for Brittany."

Quinn nodded, chastised. "Okay." She tried not to think about the fact that Rachel's phone had buzzed at least four times since they'd left school, and they'd only been in the car for five minutes. She glanced down at the bejeweled phone, held tightly in Rachel's hands.

"Dave," Rachel said, in response to Quinn's look. She rested her forehead against the window, not saying another word for the rest of the drive.

When they got to Rachel's house, Quinn pulled into the driveway and turned off the car, unfastening her seatbelt. She waited, but Rachel made no effort at moving.

"Rachel?" Quinn said, softly.

Rachel glanced over at her. "Why?"

Quinn looked down at her hands in her lap. "I know you don't believe me, but… because I care." She raised her head and met Rachel's eyes, hoping that she could see the sincerity.

Rachel stared at her for what seemed to be the longest time, then unfastened her seatbelt and got out of the car, walking up to the front door and unlocking it.

"Welcome to Chez Berry," she said flatly, ushering the other 3 girls in. "My room's upstairs and the second door on the right. I'm assuming that's where you want to go?"

Quinn saw that Brittany's eyes were reddened and tearful, and she arched an eyebrow at Santana. Santana smiled and nodded sadly, rubbing the girl's back and propelling her into the house and up the stairs. Quinn followed behind, a little uneasily.

Rachel's room was still as she remembered it, and Quinn allowed a little smile to play about her lips. Nothing but pink, but… wait, something was different. She scanned the room quickly, and then it hit her.

Every single remnant of Broadway, or Rachel's past performances, was gone.

She turned to ask Rachel, but the girl was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking down at the floor. Brittany came to stand in front of her, clearly in charge of the operation. It was a weird feeling for Quinn, but she let it go.

"Rachel?" Brittany's voice was tender. "Do you have any makeup remover?"

Rachel shook her head. "No."

Brittany nodded. "Santana? Go into Rachel's bathroom and find her makeup remover."

Rachel winced. Taking the risk, Quinn went to sit next to her, slipping her thumb and middle finger around Rachel's wrist. Rachel didn't pull away.

Santana came out of the bathroom, holding a bag of cotton balls and a bottle of clear remover. "What's with all the lotion, Berry?" she asked. "Must be like 20 bottles in there."

"I don't want _manhands_," Rachel snapped then, and Santana recoiled from the anger in the smaller girl's voice.

Quinn fought the revulsion welling up in the deepest pit of her stomach, trying not to think of all the times she'd called Rachel that, all the times she'd seen Rachel standing at her locker, working gobs of lotion into her hands, over and over…

"Okay, Rachel," Brittany soothed. "It's all right." She wet the cotton ball with the remover, and Rachel whimpered when the coldness touched her skin.

A few small, tender swipes, and Quinn could only stare as the extent of the bruise encircling Rachel's left eye came into view. It was obviously fresh, black and purple, barely tinged pink around the edges.

"Oh, god," she breathed.

"Don't you dare!" Rachel screamed suddenly, knocking Brittany onto her rear end and pointing a shaking finger at Quinn. "I want you out of my house. All of you!"

"Rachel," Brittany tried.

"No!" She shook her head violently. "You think I don't see this for what it is? Just a _joke_ to you."

"It's not a joke, Berry."

Rachel balled her fists at her sides. "My name is _Rachel_," she hissed. "Rachel. Not Berry, not RuPaul, not manhands, not Treasure Trail. _Rachel_. I don't want your pretend concern, I don't want some false sense of pity, and I don't need any help. Dave _loves_ me. This," she gestured towards her face," proves it."

"You can't honestly think he hits you because he loves you!" Quinn said, shocked. "Rachel, that's sick."

Rachel smiled then, a triumphant, almost _evil_ smile, and it chilled her. "No, Quinn, what's sick is you wasting three years of your life tormenting me, and then being jealous when I finally found someone to love me for who I am. Dave's right, you know. Everyone just wants to use me. I didn't believe him at first, but he was right: no one will ever love me, except him. He's all I need."

"Rachel, he's taken everything away from you," Quinn said, scarcely able to believe the words that were coming out of the girl's mouth. "He won't leave you alone in school, he won't let you have friends, and he made you leave glee…"

"Friends?" Rachel said, the same smile on her face as she tilted her head and regarded Quinn. "Tell me, Quinn, what are the names of my _friends_?"

_Fuck_. Quinn looked towards Santana for help; the Latina just shrugged.

"Are any of the members of glee my friends, Quinn? Did they rush after me when I quit? Are _you_ my friends?" She glanced at Quinn and Santana. "The closest thing I've ever had to a friend since seventh grade has been Brittany. And even she had to do what you two wanted her to do: torture _me_."

"Rachel…"

"Leave, please?" Rachel said, tears streaking down her cheeks. "I have to call Dave, he's going to be upset that I'm not at his house. Please, just leave."

"Rachel, I'm not leaving you here alone," Quinn said. "Not when you're going to call _him_." She practically spat the word.

"Why do you even care?" Rachel whispered. "Did you care when I was with Finn? Puck? Did you care when Jesse threw egg all over me? Did you care when you helped my mother reject me?"

Quinn hung her head, feeling Brittany's arm wrap around her and hug her shoulders.

"You've never cared, Quinn. I've just been a blight on your high school existence, and you've never ceased to remind me of that fact. I'm done, Quinn. I'm done letting you destroy me. Everyone I've ever loved in my life, except for Dave, has left me. Everyone, Quinn. Especially you. I want you _out_. Out of my house, out of my life."

"Rachel…"

"_Out_!"

They fidgeted, looking at her, but Rachel's face was resolute.

"Come on," Santana said, taking first Brittany's hand, then Quinn's. "If she doesn't want help, we can't do anything for her."

"Rachel." Brittany stopped and turned.

Rachel looked at her.

"Rachel, this isn't love. It isn't. Please… try to be safe."

Rachel folded her arms over her chest and looked away, her lips trembling.

Once outside the house, Quinn leaned against her car with her eyes closed. "I'm going to kill him," she said.

"Maybe that's not such a good idea."

"Maybe it is," Brittany said, and once again, the other two Cheerios were reduced to staring at her.

Brittany chewed her lower lip, lost in thought. "Did you hear what Rachel said up there?"

"Which part?" Santana said. "About what bitches we are? About how Dave 'loves' her? What?"

Brittany shook her head. "Rachel said to Quinn," she drew out slowly, "that every person she's ever loved has left her. She said," she turned to Quinn, "'especially you.'"

Quinn's mouth fell open, while Brittany beamed. "Rachel… _loved_ me? What the hell, I never knew that."

"Like she'd tell you, Quinn," Santana scoffed.

Quinn pursed her lips, and then glanced up at the window that she knew was Rachel's, even if the curtain was drawn. Had Rachel _really_ loved her? It only took her a second to make her decision.

"That bastard is going to regret ever laying a hand on her."


	3. Chapter 3

If Quinn hoped that Rachel would see the futility of her relationship with Dave Karofsky, she was disappointed when the brunette _former_ diva showed up at school the next morning once again wearing a long-sleeved shirt in seventy degree weather. She stopped dead in her tracks and glared at Rachel, but Rachel only focused her gaze on the floor at her feet and walked past Quinn.

"Dammit," Quinn muttered, slamming her locker door shut.

"She's got bruises under that shirt, I just know it," Santana said, coming to lean against the next locker over. "And why the flying fuck is she visiting him when he's got the pig virus, anyway?"

Quinn only shrugged, not wanting to think about it. "Where's Britt?"

"In the bathroom. She'll be here in a sec."

"Is she all right?"

Santana lifted her shoulders slightly. "She seems to be. She told me yesterday in the car that her Uncle Thomas used to beat on her Aunt Miriam a lot. Brittany's family, you know, they'd spend a week or so in Chicago over the summer?" Quinn remembered. "Yeah, they stayed at her aunt's house, and… Brittany could hear. She tried to protect her aunt one day and he hit _her_." Santana closed her eyes, her jawline taut and her expression bitter.

"I'd kill him if I could."

"I know," Quinn said softly. She knew the feeling.

"So how long have you liked Ber—Rachel?"

"I do—" Quinn started to say, but Santana's look stopped her. "What, you're not even going to make fun of me?"

"I think, given what happened yesterday, we can't afford to laugh. Besides, it's pretty damn obvious to everybody but you, Q. You keep staring at her."

Quinn sighed. "Since the summer, I guess. I mean, I don't even know what it is, I'm not in love with her or anything. Maybe it's just a crush. Maybe I'm just desperate." She laughed a little in spite of herself.

Santana pushed off the locker with her foot. "Maybe you should find out. I mean, she obviously had some feelings for you at some point."

"Yeah, but I get the feeling that right _now_, Rachel doesn't want anything to do with me, and once Karofsky gets back, I won't even have a chance to get near her."

"Something will happen," Santana said. "Eventually, something will break. I just hope it isn't Rachel."

Santana's words stayed with Quinn for the rest of the week, as she kept a close eye on Rachel, waiting for any indication that the girl might be ready to talk, or… something, Quinn didn't know what. Her heart was screaming at her to corner Rachel again, to _make_ the girl tell her what was going on, but Quinn had no idea what she could do, if Rachel told her what they all were thinking. So Quinn just waited.

There was no indication that Rachel even remembered Quinn existed, and on the following Monday, Dave Karofsky was back. Things returned to "normal" for Rachel then: Karofsky walked her to and from class, he ordered her lunch and sat with her during the lunch period, and he took her home at the end of every day.

The one thing that Quinn realized, the one thing that began to terrify her the most, was that even as Rachel stayed glued to Dave's side, every second of every day, there was nothing in her eyes like the blind trust she had had when she and Dave had begun going out. Quinn watched, anger rising up within her, as each day, the love and trust in Rachel's eyes for Dave began to be replaced with _fear_.

And Rachel started wearing long-sleeved shirts nearly every day.

Quinn's schoolwork had begun to fall by the wayside as she spent the majority of her time hatching plans to "rescue" Rachel, each of them more elaborate and more unlikely than the one before. The only one that she seriously entertained was calling Rachel's dads and telling _them_, but she didn't have Rachel's home number. Plus, Quinn knew that if she pulled that, Rachel might likely never talk to her ever again, and she wasn't willing to risk that.

Still, with each day that passed by, each time Rachel showed up to school wearing clothes incompatible with the mild season, every time Dave moved her down the hall with a hand clutching her arm and Quinn would see Rachel glance back at her, she grew a little more worried, a little more devastated… and maybe even a little more in love.

Quinn was glad that she had Cheerios practice every afternoon that week, so that she could at least be somewhat distracted. What with the heat and the pyramids and Coach Sylvester barking at them constantly over her megaphone, she didn't even have the capacity to think about Rachel Berry. Plus it was practice that reminded Quinn the most of her comeback from last year, when Coach had booted her from the squad because of the pregnancy.

There was nothing better than the feeling of standing on someone's shoulders at the top of a pyramid, looking out with _no fear_, seeing the entire school laid out in front of you, and knowing that you pretty much _owned_ everyone below and around you.

Quinn always felt like she had two Quinn Fabrays living inside her, though: the Quinn Fabray _in_ the Cheerios, and the Quinn Fabray _without_ the Cheerios. For all the trouble the last year had brought her, she had actually come to enjoy her brief respite from the Cheerios, and had even, maybe, learned some things about herself that she hadn't known before. Plus, it was nice not to have the stress of Sue Sylvester yelling at you every five minutes for not having your foot placed right, or to be on one of her insane diets that made even Rachel Berry look like a five-course meal at a French restaurant.

At the same time, Quinn knew that the high school hierarchy worked much like a prison's: you either rise to the top, or you become shit under someone's shoes, someone's bitch. And Quinn Fabray was going to be no one's bitch. One slushie to the face had been enough to make her decide she would never get it again (though she of course didn't mind _giving_ them) and so just as soon as that baby weight had come off – thank God – Coach Sylvester made some crack about being glad that her head cheerleader no longer looked like a hot air balloon, and Quinn was the golden child once again.

And then there was the little matter of a girl named Santana Lopez.

When you grow up with someone, even if you don't live with them, you come to learn their little quirks very quickly: what pushes the buttons to make them happy, and what pushes the buttons that will make them come after you with the fire of a thousand suns. Quinn knew that Brittany was a little slow, but that she had the biggest heart of pretty much anyone she knew. She knew that Brittany liked ducks, was afraid of horror movies, and could play a mean game of Twister.

As for Santana? Quinn knew that Santana didn't even need Schuester's Spanish class, but took it because Brittany would need the help. She knew that Santana sometimes got lost in the shuffle that came with being the middle child, and that the girl had a secret stash of Broadway cds tucked away in a box in the back of her closet. She knew that Santana loved Brittany more than anything.

But Quinn knew that Santana also loved power, and she'd stop at nothing in getting it, even if it meant throwing her "best friend" under the bus. Kill or be killed, and Quinn was not about to let Santana put another target on her back.

So if she was being honest with herself she was a little suspicious of Santana's newfound concern about Rachel Berry, but Quinn hadn't expected that _she_ would even care about Rachel, so… maybe stranger things had happened. Still, if something went down with Rachel and Karofsky, there was nobody Quinn rather have at her back than Santana, and, by proxy, Brittany.

Quinn shouldered her duffel bag after the requisite 2-mile run around the track, and with Santana and Brittany at her side the WMHS Bitch Trifecta headed down the front of the bleachers towards the locker room for a much needed shower.

"We should hang out later," Santana said.

Quinn quirked an eyebrow at her. "Usually when you say 'hang out,' that means…"

"Ew, god, Quinn, I wouldn't do that with you. Besides, aren't you saving your second virginity for Berry or something?"

"Shut the hell up, Santana."

"Oooh, language, Christian girl."

"I'd do that with you, Quinn."

"What the hell, B?"

"Thanks, Brittany, I think."

"Sure. You're a buh-milf."

Quinn paused and looked at Santana, who shrugged. "Um, Britt," she said slowly. "What's a buh-milf?"

"Biological Mother I'd Like to Fuck."

Santana cracked up and Quinn opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again to say something – though she had no idea what – but was saved by a sound from under the bleachers.

"Dave, please…."

All three of them froze, heads swiveling like Linda Blair towards the voice.

_Rachel_.

When they heard the smack, they took off running in the direction of the sound.

Rounding the corner underneath the bleachers, they saw Rachel, cupping her face with blood streaming between her fingers from her cracked lip. Dave had her pressed up against a bleacher support, his face red with anger.

"Listen to me, you little bitch," he said, and Quinn saw that Rachel's long-sleeved shirt had torn, revealing finger-like bruises on her arm. "If I see you talking to him one more time, I swear to god…"

He backhanded her again.

"Dave, I'm sorry, please!" Rachel cried out, cowering.

Santana looked at Quinn; Quinn looked at Santana.

"Do it."

Two words from her captain was all Santana needed; her legs pumped forward, glad that Karofsky was facing away from them. Brittany was right behind her, the two girls teaming together: one to quickly jerk Rachel out of the way, the other to grab Karofsky from behind, whirl him around, and bring her knee solidly up against his crotch.

"Oh, god, Santana, _don't_!" Rachel cried out again, and Quinn's eyes nearly burst out of their sockets; why in the hell was she _protecting_ him?

But Santana, once she was engaged, knew nothing else. She slammed Karofsky against the support, fists landing over and over against his gut, and Quinn had the feeling that it wasn't just Karofsky on whom she was exacting her revenge, but a certain Chicago uncle that had brought tears to blue eyes years ago.

Rachel was trying to wrestle out of Brittany's grasp so Quinn went over to them and locked her hands with Rachel's, hazel eyes meeting brown measure for measure and not letting up.

Quinn took a deep breath. She wasn't going to ask this time. "This ends _now_," she told Rachel firmly.

To her surprise, Rachel stopped fighting, and crumpled into Brittany's arms with a sob.

Santana was letting loose a string of swear words as she socked Karofsky in the jaw. "How's it feel to _you_, you fucking bastard?" she hollered. "Do you _like_ beating up on the weak ones? You're a real _man_ aren't you, motherfucker?"

"Santana." Quinn's voice cut clearly into the sound of blows landing, and Santana stilled. She took in the sight of Karofsky's bloody face and slumped body. "That's good enough." She jerked her head in Rachel's direction; Santana wiped her hands on Karofsky's shirt, smirking, before coming over to Brittany and taking Rachel's hands out of Quinn's.

Quinn stepped over next to Karofsky.

"I'm going… to… kill you," he wheezed, struggling to stand up.

Quinn's fist hit him in the nose, and he yelped, cupping it with his hands as blood spurted. "Listen to me," she said calmly. "You fell, do you hear me, Karofsky? You _fell_, and if you breathe one word of this to _anyone_, I'll make sure everyone on the hockey team knows you like to hit _girls_. And you _know_ what they'll do to a bastard like that, don't you, _Dave_?" Her voice took on a cold, sweet tone, and even Santana shivered.

The hockey team might do a lot of less noble things, such as stuffing students into dumpsters and being a well-organized slushie facial brigade, but about five years ago they'd found out that their star goalie had beaten up on his girlfriend. He'd left school on a stretcher and in a neck brace, his hockey career over.

Karofsky knew the same fate awaited him if the team found out, and Quinn could _see_ the fear in his eyes.

She relished it.

"And one more thing," she said, still sweetly. "You stay _away_ from Rachel. If you get anywhere near her, Karofsky, it won't be the football team you have to deal with, it'll be the police. Now get the hell out of here." She turned to go, but then spun around and kneed him in the groin before finally making it back to the other three girls.

"Nice," Santana said, breathing heavily.

Quinn smirked. "You all right?"

"Shit, Q, I'm badass. Besides, Brittany will take care of my hands later."

"I always do," Brittany said proudly, but her expression saddened when she looked down at the short brunette girl who still had her face buried in the front of Brittany's Cheerios uniform.

Quinn gently touched Rachel's back, tears rushing to her eyes when the girl flinched. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Karofsky stumble off, wavering unsteadily on his feet.

"Rachel?" She placed her hands on Rachel's shoulders; when the girl didn't flinch again, Quinn gently turned her around. "He's gone now, Rachel; it's okay."

Her heart clenched when she saw the blood covering Rachel's face; Quinn looked at Santana, who immediately grabbed a towel out of her duffel and soaked it with water.

"Rachel," Quinn said, "I'm going to clean the blood off your face, okay? I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

She didn't know where the gentleness was coming from – Quinn Fabray wasn't used to being _genuinely_ sweet, really – but Rachel looked like a wounded bird that Brittany might keep in her locker, and the sight was heartbreaking.

Still Rachel said nothing, so Quinn took a deep breath, willing her hands to hold steady, as she brought one up to Rachel's face and began dabbing at the blood. Rachel whimpered, and Quinn paused, then started again. Luckily only her lip seemed to be injured; she knew Rachel's most prized possession was her nose – as if it mattered. That Karofsky hit Rachel _anywhere_ made him public enemy number one, in Quinn's hierarchy.

"How could you?"

Quinn looked at Rachel. "What?"

"How could you?" Rachel repeatedly softly. "He _loves_ me."

"Rachel," Quinn said, frustrated. "That isn't—"

"He's the _only one_ that loves me." Rachel looked up at Quinn with tear-filled eyes. "Nobody wants me, Quinn. Not glee, not Santana, not Brittany or Finn or Puck or…_you_. Nobody. You just took the one person who loved me away from me."

Rachel twisted her hands in front of her, shaking her head. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"Rachel, you'll find someone—"

"No, I won't!" And if it were any other time Quinn would have laughed when Rachel gave her usual foot stomp of emphasis, but this time, it saddened her. "No one wants me; did you not hear what I said? I'm too ugly, too obnoxious, Dave says. No one will put up with me except for Dave, because I'm so awful."

"That's not true, Rachel," Brittany said, and Rachel turned to her, all color draining out of her face.

"Oh, god, Brittany, your uniform…" Rachel stared at it, seemingly unable to believe that it was covered in her own blood. "I'm so sorry…" She lifted her hand, tracing her fingertips along the lines of blood that ran along Brittany's stomach.

"Oh, _God_…"

The next thing Quinn knew, she had an armful of Rachel Berry, who was pressed into her and sobbing. Quinn's hands flailed a little uselessly at her sides in the momentary shock, before she caught Brittany clapping her hands excitedly, and Santana was smirking at her, even if it lacked her usual energy.

Swallowing hard, Quinn allowed her arms to wrap around Rachel's small body, holding her close, but gently.

"I thought he loved me," Rachel was saying, over and over against Quinn's chest. "I thought… I thought… _Nobody _ wants me… I don't want to be alone…"

"What if you're not alone?" Quinn surprised herself by saying. She must have surprised Rachel too, because the girl stilled in her embrace, then pulled off quickly, as if she was alarmed to find herself there.

"What are you talking about?"

"What if… you don't have to be alone?" Quinn tried again, wondering when Rachel Berry had turned her usual eloquence – okay, her usual confidence – into a Sarah Palin interview. "I could… _we_ could," she added hastily, glaring at Santana, who rolled her eyes, "be your friends. And you wouldn't be alone then."

Rachel shook her head. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Quinn."

"I _don't_… usually." Quinn sighed. "Please, Rachel."

"We could go to the park," Brittany offered. "I like feeding the ducks there."

Rachel smiled a little. "That sounds like fun, Brittany. Maybe some time. Just… not right now." She glanced around. "I need to get home."

"You're not talking to him," Quinn warned.

Rachel glanced at her with an unreadable expression on her face. "I think I need to talk to my _dads_," she said quietly. "But I don't… Dave has a truck…"

"I'll take you home," Quinn said, understanding, and once again Rachel met her with those brown eyes that seemed to stare right into her – and see something that Quinn desperately wanted to keep to herself.

But Rachel nodded, moving to pick up the handle to her pink rolling bag, and Quinn stopped her. "I got it." She took it in her hand and smiled. "Come on, Rachel."

Rachel lagged a little behind, allowing Brittany to comfort her and assure her that all she'd have to do is explain to Sylvester that the blood stains were a result of Brittany kicking some jerk's ass, and she'd be even more golden in Sylvester's eyes than she already was.

Quinn's hands were shaking, and Santana let out a grunt of frustration, grabbing Rachel's bag from her. The blonde girl looked over at her second in command with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" Santana snapped.

"Nothing," Quinn said easily. "I was just wondering when the real Santana Lopez got abducted by aliens and replaced with… _this_ Santana Lopez. You know, the one who isn't giving me a hard time for maybe possibly having a little gay crush on Rachel Berry."

Santana paused, turning to Quinn. "I will kill you if you repeat this," she growled, "to anybody." Quinn nodded, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards. "You know that tall, amazing cheerleader walking behind us? Yeah, well, I'd do anything for her, even if it means being nice to RuPaul."

Santana rolled her eyes, catching Quinn's glare. "And besides, really, after you got yourself knocked up by Jewhawk, you can't slide too much further down the social ladder."

She grinned, adding, "And if you do, I'll be right there."

"Yeah, with a knife to my back," Quinn sniped, then shook her head. "Thanks." She reached out and squeezed Santana's hand.

"Whatever, blondie. God, you're so disgusting."

But Santana was smiling at her a little, and Quinn rolled her eyes.

Brittany and Santana left Quinn and Rachel in the parking lot so that Brittany could drive her girlfriend home and play doctor with her hands – which would no doubt lead to her playing doctor with other parts of Santana's anatomy, so Quinn was grateful for the chance to sit out _that_ opportunity. Rachel stood by Quinn's car, leaning on it as the blonde cheerleader tucked their book bags in the back seat and closed the door. She was staring at everything and nothing; Quinn noticed that her mouth was working silently, as if Rachel were talking to herself, or some demon inside that she had just met. Quinn walked around her and opened up the passenger side door.

"Rachel? Come on, let's get you home."

They were quiet for the short, ten minute ride to Rachel's house, for which Quinn was, again, grateful. It gave her time to slip inside her own thoughts, to replay the events of the day. Rachel's voice, small and scared. Red blood that slid like teardrops down a delicate face. Rachel's arms, shivering and tight around Quinn's waist. A pulsing rush to the head, as the scent of apple, flowing through brown hair, captivated Quinn and made her want to do nothing but breathe in, forever.

"I don't remember who I am."

Quinn snapped out of her daydream and glanced at Rachel as they pulled into the driveway in front of her house.

"What?"

Rachel didn't look at her. "I feel like I don't remember who I am… who I _was_… before him. Well, that's not true. I remember no one likes me."

"That's not true," Quinn said.

Rachel shook her head. "It's okay, Quinn." She unsnapped her seat belt, pulling it off. Getting out of the car, she slammed the passenger door side and opened the back, pulling out her rolling case. She paused, looking at Quinn from the back.

"You don't have to protect my feelings, Quinn. I know how everyone feels about me. And in a way, it's comforting. At least if no one likes me, and I'm alone, maybe I can discover who I am again."

"Rachel, that's not—"

"I'll see you later, Quinn. Thank you for the ride home."

Rachel shut the door and walked off. Quinn sat in the car and stared, long after Rachel had gone inside her house and shut the door behind her.

When she finally pulled away, Quinn could barely see the road for the tears welling up in her eyes.

The next day, Quinn stood at her locker and watched as Rachel came into school. Even with the makeup she could tell that Rachel had probably spent all night crying, and the hopeful look as Rachel stopped just inside the doorway and glanced around for Karofsky made Quinn's heart clench.

Karofsky was nowhere to be found.

That filled Quinn with triumph, but seeing Rachel's face fall didn't.

After third period, Rachel spotted Karofsky and attempted to make a beeline for him, but when he spied her – and Quinn hovering just a few feet behind – he disappeared into the boy's bathroom without a second glance. Rachel _almost_ followed him, then came to her senses and stepped back, hand faltering in the air.

Quinn stepped up behind her. "Rachel?"

Rachel whirled around, palms up in front of her in fright.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Quinn managed to say as softly as possible amidst the throng of students rushing by them. "I just wanted to ask you if you wanted me to walk you to fourth period. I mean, we do have class together now."

Rachel chewed her lip and winced, running her tongue along the rawness. "Okay."

In class, Quinn noticed that Rachel wasn't paying one bit of attention to the Pablo Neruda poems they were going over (which was a shame; Quinn had been daydreaming of lying next to Rachel on her bed, whispering a poem to her) and was instead drawing in her notebook. The blonde cheerleader had once considered it her misfortune to be seated next to Rachel Berry, but now she was glad for it, because if she leaned over _just so_, she could see that Rachel had…

Oh, god.

Rachel had drawn a hideous picture, presumably of herself, under the headline Rachel Berry: Loser. It wasn't unlike the pictures _Quinn _had drawn of Rachel: garish nose, stringy hair, horrid clothes and a smile with teeth missing. Except in Rachel's self-portrait, the picture was bordered by one word, repeated over and over in harsh block lettering.

UGLY.

Quinn sighed. Then, taking her phone out of her pocket, and not knowing where she was suddenly finding the courage, she sent a quick text message.

Next to her, Rachel's phone buzzed. The brunette pulled it out and discreetly peeked at the screen. Her eyes flew open and she snuck a glance over at Quinn, who didn't meet her gaze, but smiled softly to herself.

**ur not ugly, Rachel. ur really not. –Q**

Quinn swore that Rachel smiled a little, before she turned a page in her binder and began taking notes.

That evening, Quinn tore out every page in her journal that she had devoted to horrific pictures of Rachel, and shredded them in what used to be her father's office.


	4. Chapter 4

About a week later, Rachel strode up to Quinn at her locker, unseen by the blonde cheerleader.

"I talked to my dads."

Quinn jumped, inadvertently slamming her locker door shut, and was met with Rachel's widened eyes.

"I didn't mean to scare you," she said.

"No, it—it's fine," Quinn said, taking a deep breath. "So… you talked to your dads?"

Rachel fidgeted, one hand reaching up to play with her hair. "Yes. That day, after you dropped me off."

"How'd they take it?"

"Not well. They cried at first, then got angry because I didn't talk to them, _and_ I let Dave come to the house whenever they weren't home. I tried to explain to them that I was merely displaying the behavior of any normal seventeen-year-old with a boyfriend. So they displayed the behavior of the _parents_ of a normal seventeen-year-old and grounded me for a month."

Quinn laughed and shook her head, and Rachel grinned a little, before sobering. "They wanted me to go to the police, of course, but… I don't think he'll be bothering me anymore, and the bruises are almost gone." Rachel winced. "And even though I don't really know _how_… I just… I want to move on."

"I understand," Quinn agreed, even though a part of her would have loved to see Karofsky wearing prison stripes. Or maybe he could go to that one jail where the prisoners slept outside in tents and wore pink. She grinned to herself, thinking that pink was Karofsky's color.

"That being said, I'm not allowed to go out at all, which isn't that big of a deal because I don't usually go out anyway, not having any fr…" She stopped and worried her bottom lip. "Well, I can't go out. But there's no rule saying that I can't have people _over_."

"You just said you were grounded for having people over," Quinn said, confused.

"I am no good at this," Rachel muttered. She looked up and concentrated her gaze on Quinn. "Did you mean it when you said you would be my friend?"

Quinn blinked, her mouth falling open a little in shock. "Of course I did, Rachel, you can trust—"

"I _don't_ trust you," Rachel said levelly, glaring at Quinn, then her face softened and she looked like a vulnerable little girl. "But I don't really want to be alone. Santana doesn't really like me, and Brittany's a sweetheart but I think I'd probably want to strangle her after an hour, and well, you're the lesser of the two evils that are you and Santana. And trust _me_, it is very difficult for me to even ask you this after everything, including that farce of a slumber party back in seventh grade."

_Ouch_. Quinn winced.

"But I'm willing to overlook that, if you'd like to come over and watch a movie with me later on this afternoon."

"You mean a musical," Quinn couldn't help saying.

"Of course," Rachel smirked. "And don't worry, I_ did_ ask my dads; well, I argued with them for approximately thirty minutes, and I'm not ashamed to say that I did tell them that after someone has a traumatic experience such as the one I had, it is not wise to be cooped up in a house, alone."

Quinn tilted her head, impressed. "Playing dirty, huh? You should be on the Cheerios."

Rachel just shook her head, waiting expectantly for Quinn's acceptance or rejection.

An afternoon spent with Rachel Berry, watching a musical. It sounded like hell. It sounded like hell and it sounded like heaven and everything in between, and before she could even stop herself Quinn simply said okay, and Rachel actually managed a smile that looked halfway happy and genuine.

"Excellent. Might I trouble you for a ride home, then?"

"You've been nothing _but_ trouble for me, Berry," Quinn pronounced wryly, then immediately looked horrified. "Oh, god, I didn't mean that…" If anything, _she_ had been nothing but trouble for Rachel ever since 7th grade.

"No worries, Quinn; I do understand that your inner bitch has to come out and play eventually. I've come to accept it and in fact, embrace it, on some occasions. I'll see you at your car after you have glee practice."

"Are you coming back to glee?"

Rachel had been in the process of walking off, but her step faltered, and she turned back. "I don't know," she said quietly. "They don't want me there." She looked around the half-empty hall, and stepped back closer to Quinn.

"Do they know?"

"A little bit of it," Quinn admitted. "Brittany, Santana and I weren't the only ones who noticed that things were a little off with you."

She didn't tell Rachel that the glee club had been incensed for about five minutes when Brittany had inadvertently let it slip what had been happening to Rachel, but then Schue had come in with plans for Sectionals, and Rachel had been all but forgotten. Quinn had had a hard time that day, trying to hold onto righteous anger at Rachel's plight being so easily swept under the rug, while nursing the guilt that she felt for having herself swept Rachel under the rug for so long.

"Yeah, but you three were the only ones that cared. See you after school."

"Rachel?" Quinn called. The short girl stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Just… think about coming back to glee? I miss you."

Oh, shit, had she really said that? Quinn's cheeks burned as she watched Rachel saunter off down the hall.

But it was true. She did miss her. She missed coming into the glee room and hearing Rachel prattle on about some musical or another; she missed having the luxury of sometimes sitting next to her and smelling Rachel's body wash, or practically _feeling _the warmth that emanated from her. She missed Rachel's singing, missed the way she smiled, and she even missed the way that she bossed everyone around.

Quinn had suddenly found herself missing the Rachel Berry that had been before Dave Karofsky got to her. She didn't like this new Rachel, who floated around school like a ghost, looking lost and alone, as if she thought no one would ever love her.

Apparently Karofsky had fully convinced Rachel that this was true. Quinn hated him for it.

He might have destroyed the only chance she ever would have had at convincing Rachel otherwise.

For the rest of the day, Quinn was a nervous wreck, which resulted in her completely losing her grip on a lunch tray and dumping it and its contents all over the floor. She tried to fix the jeering students with her best Fabray glare, and was surprised when her eyes came to rest on Rachel, only to see that the girl was sitting alone at a table, just watching her. Quinn wanted more than anything to go and sit with her, but when the janitor came and shooed her away from the mess she made, she shrugged her shoulders and took up her usual spot with Santana and Brittany.

"You," Santana drawled, gesturing at her with a fork, "are pathetic."

"Thank you, Santana. Remind me never to come to you for a pep talk."

"Hey," Brittany said indignantly, "Santana's good at giving pep talks. Like, this one time, I couldn't get the strap-on to stay on, and she—"

"_Not_ the time, Britt," Santana hastily interjected, her face blushing nearly purple.

Quinn just shook her head, smiling. "I'm just nervous about going to Rachel's after school."

"What's there to be nervous about?" Santana asked around her bite of salad. "You hang out, you watch some crappy musical, you kiss her, both of you live happily-ever-disgusting-after."

Quinn let her mind drift, thinking about kissing Rachel, before she realized that she was thinking about kissing Rachel, and shook her head to clear those thoughts, only to find both Santana _and_ Brittany smirking at her.

"I'm not going to kiss her," she grumbled defensively.

"Of course you're not," Santana soothed, giving Quinn's back a patronizing pat.

"But, you know, since you're not, maybe I could—"

"_No_," Quinn seethed. "_You_ are not getting anywhere _near_ Rachel."

"And why is that?" Santana's tone was sickly sweet, mocking.

Quinn groaned and propped herself up on her elbows, resting her forehead in her hands. "Just stop, okay? You're making this worse."

"I don't think it's us making it worse, Quinn," Santana pointed out, pushing away her lunch tray.

"Look, you like Rachel. We just beat the crap out of the guy that's been using her as his personal punching bag for the last month. And now, you're headed over to her house after school, while looking like you'll personally de-ball anyone who dares to even think about kissing her. Even those of us who don't have balls."

"I have a basketball," Brittany said, confused.

"Not the same thing, baby," Santana kissed her cheek. She returned her gaze to Quinn, pointing at her, and her captain had to resist the urge to slap the finger away.

"You are Quinn Fabray. You do not crack under pressure. You are going to go to Rachel's house, you are going to be cool, you are going to watch some god-awful fucking musical, and then whatever does or does not happen afterwards, you are going to _own_ it. Because if you don't, I will kick _your_ ass."

With that, Santana and Brittany linked pinkys and strode off, leaving Quinn to stare after them, open-mouthed, thinking that Santana Lopez gave some damn good pep talks, after all.

She'd have to ask her about the strap-on thing later, just in case she and Rachel…

Quinn shut that thought down. Musicals, first.

Rachel was standing at Quinn's locker when the girl got there after glee, looking down at her feet with a shy expression on her face.

It was really cute, Quinn thought, and she smiled at her. "Hey, Rachel."

That was a good start, right?

She was Quinn Fabray, she reminded herself. She was cool.

"Hey, Quinn," Rachel returned the smile, and Quinn wondered why it had taken her so long to realize that Rachel had a very pretty face.

"You ready to go?"

Rachel nodded. "I just need to go to my locker and grab my case. Is that okay? I would have gotten it before but I didn't want to take a chance at you thinking I'd left and so I've been waiting here during glee and I'm sorry but it'll only take a minute—"

"Rachel." The smaller girl snapped her mouth shut. Quinn smiled softly. "You've been standing at my locker for the last hour?"

Rachel flushed bright pink, and Quinn had the realization that _that_ was even cuter than shy Rachel.

"Well, like I said, I didn't want you to think I'd left. Plus, it's not like I have friends over a l—ever."

Quinn nodded, wincing a little. "It's all right," she said easily. "Let's go get your case and then we can blow this popsicle stand."

Rachel giggled. "Okay."

Once they'd retrieved it, Quinn reached down and took it out of Rachel's hand, ignoring the girl's confused look as they left the school and headed towards Quinn's car in the parking lot.

Quinn was aware of Rachel's eyes on her as the little diva trailed behind, and she grinned to herself.

So what if she was feeling a little chivalrous today? I mean, it's what you were supposed to do on a date, ri—

Oh, crap.

Not a date, not a date, not a date, she repeated to herself, over and over. Just two… _friends_… going to one's house to hang out.

Not a date.

Damn.

They were silent once again on the drive to Rachel's house, and when they pulled into the driveway Quinn almost forgot that she was supposed to get out of the car as well, because Rachel leaned into the passenger side and quietly said, "Quinn? You coming?"

She nodded, numbly, before locking her car and following Rachel inside.

"You can, um, have a seat in the living room," Rachel said awkwardly, "I'm just going to take my bag upstairs and change into something else. If you like, our DVD collection is next to the television; I won't make you watch a musical unless you really want to."

With that, Rachel gave Quinn a small smile, and disappeared upstairs to her bedroom.

Quinn sat on the floor in front of the extensive DVD collection, 70 percent of which were, in fact, musicals, and the other 30 percent seemed to be cheesy action flicks. She grinned, fighting back the desire to pick Armageddon or The Day After Tomorrow, and instead settled on one thin DVD case in the middle, resting it on the coffee table before taking up a space on the couch.

After a few minutes she heard Rachel descending the stairs, and Quinn turned, the smile on her lips fading into a dropped jaw, because Rachel Berry was not in argyle or sweaters, but in shorts. SHORT shorts, that came up mid-thigh and were red, and she was wearing a black teeshirt. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, dipping into her brown eyes and giving her the tousled look of a child just out of bed.

Quinn swallowed hard, trying to ignore the rush of heat that was pooling in her belly.

"Quinn?" Rachel was looking at her oddly.

"Huh?"

_Smooth, Fabray, real smooth_.

"Are you all right? You're staring."

"No, no, you're fine, I mean, _I'm_ fine."

Those _shorts_. Quinn shook her head, trying to get the image out of her thoughts, but it didn't work since the "image" was still standing in front of her, and Quinn thought she could detect the tiniest bit of a smirk on Rachel's face.

"Would you like some popcorn?" Rachel asked. "Or a drink? We do have some soda, even though I don't drink it, so you're welcome—"

"Water's fine, Rachel," Quinn said gently. Then, she added, "Rach, you don't have to be so nervous, okay? It's just me."

"That's what I'm nervous about," Rachel muttered low under her breath, but Quinn heard it anyway, and her eyes widened.

Why was Rachel nervous? Did she… could she feel the same way?

No, Quinn decided. She'd never be that lucky.

Rachel went into the kitchen and came back momentarily with a bowl of popcorn and two bottles of water, setting them on the coffee table. She picked up the dvd case and looked at it, then quirked an eyebrow at Quinn.

"Funny Girl?"

Quinn shrugged. "You like it so much; I wanted to see what the fuss was about." She didn't say that she only picked it because Rachel liked it, and she was content just to see Rachel smile and be happy.

"Are you sure?" Rachel said doubtfully.

"Put the dvd in, Berry," Quinn said, then smiled, settling back and cracking open one of the bottles of water.

Rachel grinned and did just that, then practically _skipped_ over to the couch and crashed onto it next to Quinn, so close that their arms were touching. Quinn, who had been gulping down the water, choked at the contact, sputtering as liquid flew from her lips onto her uniform and the coffee table.

"Shit," she swore, not because of the water but because Rachel had jumped up the minute she had started coughing, and moved to the end of the couch. She swiped at her wet uniform top with her fingers, cognizant of both the way the soaked fabric was now clinging to her, and the way Rachel was staring at said fabric.

Rachel tore her eyes away when Quinn looked at her, fumbling with the remote to start the movie. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly.

Quinn cleared her throat. "Yeah, fine," she croaked. "Why'd you move?"

"You seemed uncomfortable."

"I wasn't."

"Oh."

"You can move back if you want?"

Rachel shook her head, and Quinn sighed audibly, curling her legs up underneath her and focusing on the television.

This was not going well.

But really, how was it supposed to go? She found herself concentrating on that more than the musical, because even though it was okay, it was obviously more Rachel's thing than Quinn's, in the way that the little diva was softly reciting every line and humming along to every song.

It was adorable, really.

But Quinn was too stuck on the fact that this was not a date, and so she should be _acting_ like this was just two friends – was that what they were? – hanging out, eating popcorn and watching a movie. But that couch just seemed too damned _big_ with Rachel on the other end looking so small and tired against it, and seeing the girl occasionally worrying her bottom lip between her teeth _hurt_ Quinn for some reason, even if she couldn't figure out why.

She was pretty sure it was because she might be in love with Rachel Berry.

But she was also pretty sure that Rachel Berry didn't feel the same way, and so Quinn just shook her head and turned on her side with her head against the arm of the couch, resolving to just… watch Funny Girl.

Evidently, Funny Girl served as a lullaby, because Quinn realized she had fallen asleep when she woke up to what sounded like an overture, but was really the music from the DVD scenes menu. She had a horrible crick in her neck and she moved to get up, but there was a peculiar soft weight holding her down.

A quick glance to her right told Quinn that weight was Rachel, asleep herself and half-spooned into her side with her head tucked against Quinn's ribs. Somehow the smaller girl had maneuvered so that Quinn's arm was draped over Rachel's back, and Rachel's arm was slung over Quinn's hips.

Quinn didn't dare move; hell, she didn't dare _breathe_ because her lungs expanding might be cause for Rachel to wake up, and there was no _way_ she was about to do that, because Rachel's face, scrunched up with her mouth slightly open, was positively _angelic_, and Quinn would be content to stare at it for the rest of her life.

Except that Rachel mumbled in her sleep and shifted, blinking, before she raised her head and realized that Quinn was staring at her. She gasped and scooted backwards so fast that she tumbled off the couch, landing on her rear end with a sharp hiss.

"Rachel, are you okay?" Quinn got up and knelt down in front of the brown-haired girl, searching her face with concern.

"Oh, sure," Rachel huffed, "Perfectly fine to have just woken up practically on top of you, and then panicked so much I fell onto my ass on the floor. Really, I've had more graceful panic attacks than this; I'm quite embarrassed at my lack of prowess at the moment."

Quinn's lips quirked and she couldn't hold back the giggle. "Yeah, you're definitely fine." She stood up and held out her hand. "Come on, unless the floor is comfortable enough for you?"

Rachel snorted and locked her fingers with Quinn as she pulled.

Evidently she pulled too hard, because Rachel's body lurched and crashed into hers; Quinn had to wrap her arms around the girl to steady her so that Rachel wouldn't fall again – not that she minded.

Rachel stilled, staring up at her, but not pulling herself out of Quinn's embrace. Instead, they stared at each other, Rachel breathing hard and trembling slightly.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asked, gently cupping Rachel's back with her hands.

"Yes," Rachel said. "No…"

They moved at the same time, closer, Quinn dipping her head and Rachel tilting her face up, and Quinn's breath hitched when she realized that she and Rachel Berry were just about to cross the point of no return…

But then Rachel shoved her, so hard that Quinn flew onto the couch with a thump.

"No," Rachel said, shaking her head and hugging herself. "No, no, no, no…."

"Rachel, what the hell?" Quinn exclaimed, ignoring the pain in her back where it had connected with the arm of the couch.

"We can't do this," Rachel said, tears beginning to fall onto her cheeks.

"Do what?" Quinn asked, exasperated, wanting desperately to kiss away Rachel's tears, the hurt look on her face.

"You don't want me," Rachel whispered. "You don't want me, Quinn, you don't."

Quinn ran a shaking hand through her blonde hair and met Rachel's eyes. "Yeah, Rachel, I think I do."

"You _don't_," Rachel hissed. "You're just like the rest, you'll get what you want and leave. A quick fuck and then you're gone. Dave told me you'd try this."

"Is that what this is about?" Quinn snapped. "_Dave_? God, Rachel, when are you going to realize that all he wanted was to _beat_ you? You were his punching bag; he didn't _love_ you!"

"Neither do you!" Rachel practically screeched, and Quinn stood up only to back away at the anger and misery on the petite diva's face.

"You don't want me, you just want to make fun of me and slushie me and treat me like some big joke that you and Santana and Brittany can laugh about later. Is that why you're here, Quinn? Are you going to report back to your _friends_ about how sad and pathetic Rachel Berry is with her Broadway and her DVDs and her singing and her dads who are never around, the Rachel Berry that _nobody wants_? Nobody wants me, Quinn, don't you get it?"

Rachel was screaming now, her hands balled into fists.

"Finn didn't want me, Puck didn't want me, Jesse didn't want me, and my own mother doesn't want me! She wants what's yours, everybody wants what yours, nobody cares about what's mine! Nobody cares about my heart or my hurt or my dreams, because I'm never going to be good enough!"

"Rachel," Quinn whispered in shock. "Rachel, no…"

"Don't." Rachel's voice shook. "Don't lie to me. You know it's true." She looked around frantically, then grabbed Quinn's hand, jerking the girl towards the stairs.

"Rachel, what are you doing?" Quinn had the sudden frightening thought that she was about to be murdered by Rachel Berry.

She wondered if anyone would ever find her body.

But Rachel was yanking Quinn into her room, into her bathroom.

"See those?" she said, pointing to the bottles of lotion that Santana had mentioned weeks ago. "I need to get more, they're almost empty." She held up her hands, level with Quinn's face. "Manhands, Quinn. Do my hands look like a man's? Please tell me they don't."

They didn't. They looked soft and gentle, delicate, and Quinn, in spite of her terror at this moment, wanted desperately to take Rachel's hands and kiss every inch of them, to _show_ her that she did not have hands like a man's, but beautiful, beautiful hands…

"They don't, Rachel," she said quietly, and Rachel laughed, a cold, harsh sound.

"Liar."

She dragged Quinn back into her room. "See this?" she said, spinning around, gesturing towards the bare walls.

"I took them down because Dave asked me to. I didn't need them, he said. I'd never make it on Broadway. My voice isn't good enough. I'll never be good enough to sing on a Broadway stage. I tried to argue with him. He kicked me in the back until I was hoarse, and then he laughed."

"Oh, god," Quinn whimpered, crying openly. "Oh, God, Rachel…"

"'You see?' he said. 'You can't even scream anymore, why the fuck do you think you could sing?' And I can't. Isn't that what you said on my MySpace videos?"

Quinn winced, sinking onto the bed, her face a mass of tears and snot.

"'If I were your parents, I would have given you back.' 'Why don't you do us all a favor and kill yourself?' Would that make you feel better, Quinn, if I was dead? I don't have anything of value to offer anyone, anyway."

"Yes, you do," Quinn sniffled.

"Stop lying to me!" Rachel yelled. "I know I don't. Everything I've ever tried to do, the elliptical every morning, the dieting, the voice training, the dance lessons, the videos, the songs… What have they gotten me, Quinn? Four boys who all left me within a month, a mother who doesn't even want me, two fathers who can't bring themselves to be in the same _house_ with me for more than a day, and god knows how many fellow students who won't even take a _minute_ to find out that I could be a good friend, if they'd just let me."

Quinn's head was in her hands now as she listened, as she began to truly absorb the depth of Rachel's pain, and it was… it was… overwhelming. The ragged tone of Rachel's voice, the heaving sobs that emanated from her tiny body…

Seventeen years of pure hell, boiling out into rage and hurt.

"I'd trade it all in an instant," Rachel was crying. "God could take my voice, he could take those dance lessons, he could take stardom, he could take Broadway. I'd give it all up, for just… for just… somebody to love me."

Rachel collapsed onto the ground in front of Quinn, clutching at her knees, burying her face into the blonde girl's legs, her body shaking with the force of her tears.

"I just want somebody to love me," she mumbled, over and over. "Why won't anybody love me?"

Quinn could barely see but she managed to reach down and hook her hands under Rachel's arms; the girl struggled but Quinn held fast, hoisting Rachel up and dragging her into her lap. Rachel's small fists beat against Quinn's chest until Quinn pinned her, one hand on Rachel's head pressing the girl's face into her shoulder.

Rachel broke in her arms.

She sobbed, she wailed, she cursed, and Quinn held on, rocking her, crying herself, her mind empty except for one singular thought.

_I could love you, Rachel. Let me. Just let me. Please let me._

She hadn't realized she'd actually said it aloud until she felt Rachel's body stiffen against her, and her tears slowed but didn't stop.

Rachel pulled away to stand in the center of the room, not looking at Quinn.

"I think you need to go," she said quietly.

"Rachel, please, don't," Quinn pleaded. "I know you think you're so unlovable, but… I could love you, Rachel, I could, if you'd just try to let me in. And I know you want to, you had your arm around me downstairs, you were _asleep_ _snuggling_ me."

Rachel shook her head. "I'm ugly," she said, her voice low and wounded. "No one will ever want me—"

"I do!" Quinn said hotly, her own voice unnaturally loud, and Rachel winced.

"Why do you think I've been so worried about you? Why do you think I followed you into the bathroom that day when Mercedes accidentally hit you? Why do you think I let Santana do what she did to Karofsky? Because I—I don't know why, Rachel, and I don't know how, but I _want_ you, I _do_."

"Maybe you do now, but you won't later," Rachel said. "Not once you find out how ugly I am, inside and out. Not when you see how worthless I am, how unimportant I am. I'm… I'm nothing, Quinn."

"No, you're not," Quinn said firmly. "You're not _nothing_, Rachel, and I want to help you believe that."

Rachel shook her head. "I can't, Quinn," she said. "I can't let someone else in, just to have them leave again. I could handle the stuff with Puck and Finn and Jesse and maybe even Karofsky, I can handle all three of my parents not wanting me. But if you… if you leave me, Quinn, it'll kill me, and I can't do it, I just can't."

"But I won't leave!" Quinn said, distressed. "Why would I leave?"

Rachel offered her a small smile. "Because, Quinn, everyone I love has left me. I'm not going to give you that chance. I can't." She took a deep breath. "I need you to go."

"Rachel, please, can't we just talk?" Quinn asked.

Rachel shook her head again. "I need time, Quinn. I'm too… I'm too damaged. I'm just… nothing. I need you to go. We'll… we'll talk again later, okay?"

Quinn sniffled, the tears coming fresh, but stood anyway. She was only partially aware that Rachel had just promised to speak to her again. "You won't… you won't hurt yourself, will you?"

Rachel closed her eyes, briefly.

"Rachel, promise me."

The small girl met Quinn's gaze, and nodded. "I won't."

Quinn looked down at the floor, then back at Rachel. "I wish you knew how beautiful you are."

"It's okay, Quinn, you don't have to lie to make me feel better."

"That's the thing, Rachel," Quinn said, openly crying again. "I'm not lying."

Rachel sat at her desk, her back to Quinn. "You'll understand if I don't see you out?"

"Yes," Quinn said, feeling as if her heart was breaking.

"I'll see you at school," Rachel said. "Quinn?"

She had been halfway out the door of Rachel's bedroom, but she stopped.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for coming over. It was… nice to have a friend, even for just a little while. I won't forget it."

Quinn would never know how she made it to Santana's house without wrecking, she was sobbing so hard. She sat in her car trying to regain her composure, taking a deep breath and wiping at her eyes with some Kleenex she found in the glove compartment. She swallowed hard, trying to get the memory of Rachel's broken, tear-stained face out of her mind, but it was impossible.

She stumbled out of her car and up the sidewalk to Santana's front door, hoping to God that her parents weren't home and that Santana wouldn't be too pissed if Quinn interrupted her time with Brittany. She banged on the door with her palm, forehead resting against the cool wood as she fought to stand, feeling as if all the energy was drained from her.

The door flew open, and Santana's scowl was erased as Quinn fell into her, arms clutching around her neck and trying to hold herself up.

"Jesus," Santana said, pulling Quinn inside the house and up the stairs to her bedroom, where Brittany was waiting with wide, concerned eyes. "What the hell happened, Quinn?"

But all the blonde cheerleader could do was cry.


	5. Chapter 5

Quinn had resolved to just back off and give Rachel space, but after two weeks, she was an emotional wreck. She'd cried herself to sleep every night, her school work was suffering, and she'd run so many extra laps after Cheerios practice that her legs felt like perpetual jello.

She'd had enough.

She waited until after school and found Rachel at her locker, clearing out the books she'd need for that night's homework. She stalked up to her and waited, but Rachel didn't acknowledge her presence.

Quinn sighed.

"You said that you loved me."

Rachel stared at her, taken aback. "What?"

Quinn reached out and shut Rachel's locker door, leaning on it. "Do you remember when Brittany carried you out to my car and we all took you home?"

"How could I forget it?" Rachel said, shaking her head. "It was one of the most embarrassing days of my life."

Quinn leaned in, locking Rachel with her eyes. The girl backed up a little, but didn't break the contact.

"When you were in your room, you told us that everyone you ever loved had left you. And you said 'especially you,' while you were looking at _me_."

Rachel paled. "I-I don't remember saying that," she stammered. "I-I was in shock, I was just saying anything so that you guys would leave, I didn't want you there, I… why are you saying all this to me?"

"Because I care about you," Quinn snapped, slapping the locker in frustration.

It was the wrong thing to do.

Rachel backed up so quickly that she tripped on her own heel and fell backwards, landing on her rear on the harsh linoleum floor, her eyes wide and terrified.

Quinn glanced down at her hand. _Oh, god_. _Oh, god, what have I done?_

Very slowly, as slowly as Brittany on that day months ago, Quinn slid over to Rachel, dropping to her hands and knees and crawling to her side.

"Rachel," she said, and Rachel whimpered, lifting her hands to shield her face. "No, Rachel." Quinn gently took Rachel's hands in hers, and lowered them to her lap.

"Look at me, please."

The brunette girl raised tear-filled eyes to Quinn's face.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Quinn sat in front of her. "Rachel, I'm not Karofsky. I don't hit people just because I disagree with them. I… I think I _love_ you, Rachel; I would never intentionally hurt you."

She sighed and twisted her hands in her lap, hyper-aware that she was sitting with Rachel Berry in the middle of the hallway at WMHS. If anyone came by, what would they think?

She realized she didn't care. All that mattered at that point was Rachel.

"That's what I'm trying to make you understand. I think I _love_ you, and I know you feel _something_ for me, that you _have_ felt something for me. Can't we at least try?"

"I-I _can't_," Rachel managed to choke out, her chest beginning to heave with the force of her tears.

"Why not?" Quinn would be forever embarrassed that the question came out sounding like a whiny two-year-old.

"I just… maybe I _did_ have feelings for you, last year, when we were starting to talk to each other, and maybe I've always had a little crush on you, because I've always suspected that I might be gay, which is of course no problem given that I have two gay dads, and also I've always prided myself on…and I'm rambling, aren't I?"

Quinn arched an eyebrow and nodded, earning a long, drawn-out, very Rachel Berry sigh.

"I liked you, last year; I guess it started just after I was extremely stupid and told Finn about the baby. But then… the summer came."

Rachel shook her head, the tears falling faster. "And you broke my _heart_."

Quinn stiffened, stunned. "Rachel, I didn't even _talk_ to you over the summer."

"Exactly."

"I don't understand," Quinn said miserably, the fact that she had hurt Rachel even more without even knowing it like a knife through her gut.

Rachel drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. "I thought we were friends," she said softly. "I mean, I know that we had our issues, but… we were talking, and you were actually being _nice_ to me. So I thought we were friends, and I thought that maybe, just maybe… we could be something more."

"Rachel…"

"And all through the summer, I would lie in bed at night and look up at the ceiling, wishing my phone would ring, because I- I don't know how it happened or when, but I started _missing_ you. You never called."

"You never called _me_ either."

"Would it have mattered?"

"Yes," Quinn answered. "I would sit by my phone, waiting for _you_ to call, Rachel." Rachel shot her an incredulous look. "It's _true_. Look, I don't know when or how it happened, either, but it _did_. I started thinking about you, not as this annoying Jewish girl who railroaded everybody in glee—"

"I did not _railroad_!" Rachel interrupted indignantly.

"So not the _point_," Quinn said through gritted teeth. "The point is, Rachel, I started thinking about you. About the way the light catches your eyes when you're happy. About the way I could smell your shampoo any time I sat next to you in glee. And I thought about other things, too; about how my mother would react after her formerly pregnant daughter told her that she wanted to be the girlfriend of another _girl_, and I knew that I couldn't handle being kicked out of my house yet again. So yeah, I got scared, and I didn't call."

"And I was afraid to call," Rachel said sadly, "Because you would reject me."

Quinn sighed. "I would have done anything you asked, if you'd just called."

Rachel looked at her. "Even picking me up at three in the morning and taking me to the park to play on the swings?"

"You sound like Brittany," Quinn laughed softly. "But even that. _Especially_ that." She closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself to imagine what Rachel's eyes would look like in starlight.

She knew they'd be beautiful.

"And then… when we came back to school, everything was back to 'normal.'"

Quinn winced. She knew what that meant.

Back to being the Head Bitch in Charge. Back to power, back to arrogance, back to slushies and insults… back to hurting Rachel.

"I have to go," Rachel said, standing up.

Quinn nodded, rising to her feet. "Rachel…"

Rachel shook her head. "Not now, please."

"Okay. Later?"

"I don't know."

Rachel wouldn't look at Quinn as she walked off. Quinn was left to watch, tears pricking her eyes. She waited until Rachel was out of sight before she allowed herself to cry, then walked out herself towards her car, ready to face another night at home… alone.

And she wasn't disappointed, because her mother had left a note simply saying that she was "out," and that Quinn didn't need to wait up for her, because she wouldn't be home "till late." She knew that meant her mother was paying a visit to the Hampton Inn downtown, and she'd likely be staying with Quinn's father until the morning.

Quinn knew it was just a matter of time before her father moved back in, and she honestly didn't know what she would do when he did. Not having her father at home had actually been nice; if she was really honest with herself, Quinn enjoyed the freedom that had been afforded her by an absent father and an indifferent mother. But she knew that if her father moved back in, her life would dissolve back into that stifling imprisonment of having to be someone that she was trying desperately to leave behind.

Mean. Cold. Distant.

Quinn wanted to be someone different. And she could try to deny it as much as she wanted, but she knew the truth: she wanted to be better for Rachel. Where before, Rachel had inspired Quinn to be harsh and exacting, mocking and even going so far as to be cruel, now… Now Quinn wanted to be soft and tender, _loving_, because she knew it was what Rachel deserved.

Rachel deserved all the love and care in the world, and Quinn wanted to be the one to give it to her. Unfortunately, it seemed as if Rachel didn't want it.

Quinn's cell phone went off at four-fifteen in the morning; the harsh red numbers of her alarm clock glared at her as she jerked awake and she grumbled, scrambling to grab her phone from the bedside table. Not even looking at the caller id she flipped it open.

"Whoever this is, you'd better have a damn good reason for waking me up at this hour," she growled. "And I mean, you better be dead or on your way there, or else I'm hanging up."

"Hello to you too, Quinn."

"Rachel?" She sat up in bed, her heart clenching in fear. "What's wrong? Is something wrong? Are you all right? Hang on, I'll be over there in a min—"

"Breathe," came Rachel's amused voice, and Quinn huffed at the sound of the girl's low chuckle.

She rubbed her forehead with her hand, blinking back sleep.

"Are you okay, Rachel?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, I'm fine," Rachel replied. "I just can't sleep. I was wondering if… if…"

"What, Rachel?"

Her words came out in a rush. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but you said today that you'd even take me to the park if I wanted to and—"

"Now it's your turn to breathe," Quinn smiled. "Are you trying to ask me to pick you up and take you to the park?"

There was a pause, then, softly, "Yes."

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

Part of her realized the ridiculousness of what they were doing, but the other part of Quinn could only concentrate on how adorable Rachel looked as they pulled into the park, her eyes wide and excited, skin lightly flushed against the light pink nightgown that she was still wearing. Quinn had had sense enough to wear sweatpants and a teeshirt, but she hadn't missed the way that Rachel had looked at her. She figured it was the same way she had looked at Rachel, when the girl had slipped into the passenger side next to her, that pink nightgown riding up on her thighs a little.

"Swings?" Quinn suggested, realizing that they couldn't just sit in the car all morning. (Well, they could, but Quinn was beginning to consider her backseat to be very, very dangerous, given the thoughts that kept running through her head. Thoughts that involved a very naked Rachel Berry.)

Rachel tilted her head in a way that Quinn automatically filed away as completely and utterly adorable, then shook it with an impish grin.

"Slide!" she crowed, jumping out of the car. She turned, seeing Quinn still in the driver's seat, staring at her strangely. "Come on, Quinn!"

Quinn held back the joke she wanted to make about Rachel being the only 17-year-old she knew still small enough to play on a slide, and just shook her head, locking the car and following the little diva onto the playground.

Rachel climbed the ladder then looked down and instantly paled, her hands gripping the supports, body pressing against the top of the slide.

"Rachel?" Quinn called, confused.

"I forgot how high up these were," Rachel squeaked, and Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Well, come down, then," she said matter-of-factly. "Either climb down the ladder, or go down the slide."

"I… don't know," Rachel said uncertainly.

She wanted to laugh and she wanted to mock her, but only a little; Quinn settled for crossing the playground and positioning herself at the end of the slide.

"Come down the slide," she said firmly. "I'll catch you."

Rachel peered down at her. "You will?"

Quinn nodded. "I'll always catch you." To prove it, she knelt down, ignoring the bite of the mulch into her knees, and opened her arms, smiling up at Rachel.

It was ridiculous, it was adorable… and Quinn Fabray loved it.

Rachel looked at her for a moment longer, before hiking her legs up over the top of the slide, whimpering a little as she did so. She held onto the edges of the slide, then closed her eyes… and let go.

Quinn almost lost her balance when Rachel slid into her; she dug her toes into the mulch and wrapped her arms around Rachel's waist. To her surprise, Rachel didn't pull away but took Quinn in her own arms, burying her face into Quinn's shoulder.

They stayed that way for several long minutes, Rachel clinging to Quinn and the blonde cheerleader recognizing that something was changing between them, something she couldn't describe and didn't really want to anyway, because Rachel was soft in her arms and she smelled like apple, and Quinn was content just to drink it in.

"You caught me," Rachel mumbled into Quinn's neck, and the girl shivered at the touch of warm breath against her skin.

"I did," she agreed. "I told you I would."

Rachel lifted her head and looked at Quinn; the blonde girl caught her breath. She'd been right: Rachel's eyes sparkled in the starlight, and they were… they were _beautiful_.

"You said you'll always catch me."

Quinn simply nodded.

"Will you?" Rachel asked, her voice small.

Quinn's arms tightened around her, a lump forming in her throat. "If you let me."

Rachel took a deep breath, looking at something beyond Quinn, before she nodded, leaned over, and softly kissed her.

"Catch me," she whispered against Quinn's lips.

"Always," Quinn murmured in return, kissing her back.

"Don't let go."

"Never."

"I'm scared," Rachel said then, and Quinn sat back on her heels a little.

"Why?"

Rachel wouldn't look at her. "I want… I don't know if I'm good enough, Quinn."

"Good enough for what, Rach?" She thought she knew the answer anyway, and it was like a knife to her heart.

Rachel confirmed Quinn's suspicions by weakly saying, "Good enough for you."

"I worry about not being good enough for _you_," Quinn confessed.

Rachel's head snapped up. "What? Quinn, you're… you're _amazing_."

"I'm also the person who tormented you for years," she pointed out, even though they both knew it was unnecessary. "I worry about never being able to make up for that."

Rachel shook her head, a gentle smile playing about her lips.

"What?" Quinn asked.

Rachel curled back into Quinn's arms, kissing her again.

"You made up for all of it, the minute I came down that slide and you were there waiting for me."

Quinn blinked. "Oh," she mumbled, then straightened up. "It's what I do," she said, trying to sound haughty.

Rachel rolled her eyes and Quinn giggled, shifting on her knees when a particularly sharp piece of bark bit into her skin.

"Here." Rachel extricated herself from Quinn, ignoring the whimper from the other girl and standing up, extending her hand. Quinn took it, allowing herself to be led over to the swings.

Rachel turned and grinned, pointing to one. Quinn's brow furrowed, but she sat anyway, squeaking a little when Rachel sat in her lap, with her back to Quinn, her head snuggled against her shoulder.

Quinn smiled and wrapped her arms first around the chains, then around Rachel's waist, tucking her cheek next to Rachel's. She pressed her foot to the ground, content to just swing them both gently, Rachel's breathing slow and deep against Quinn's chest.

"I love you."

Quinn's arms tightened around Rachel as a tear dripped off her cheek. "I love you," she answered.

"Well, you were the one who said it first," Rachel yawned.

"This is true," Quinn acquiesced. "So I guess I win."

Rachel snorted. "For now."

"So basically our entire relationship is going to be a competition," Quinn joked, feeling as if her smile was going to split her face.

But Rachel stiffened, causing Quinn to tense, foot planting against the ground to stop the sway of the swing.

"Do we have a relationship?" Rachel asked.

"I… don't know? I mean… I want one," Quinn shrugged. "I want you to be my girl."

"You could have someone better."

Quinn shook her head. "There's no one better."

"Someone prettier, smarter… _taller_," Rachel said sadly.

"There's a flaw in your reasoning, Berry," Quinn said, nudging the other girl's face with her nose.

"And what's that?"

"You're the only one who's perfect for me."

"He said that, too."

Quinn felt like throwing up. "Fuck," she blurted out, and tried to push Rachel off her lap. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"No." Rachel stood up, but only to turn around so that she was straddling Quinn's knees. Quinn's eyes widened as her arms jerked out to steady the girl against her, afraid they were both about to tip over.

To her surprise, Rachel pressed her lips to Quinn's again, more firmly this time. "When he said it to me," Rachel sighed, "He made me feel like he was settling for me, like I should be honored that he was granting me his presence."

Quinn nodded, fighting the sudden urge to track Karofsky down and beat the shit out of him again.

Rachel tilted her head again in that same adorable way, then reached her hand up, trailing her fingers through Quinn's blonde locks.

"When you say it… I _feel_ perfect. Perfectly… beautiful."

Quinn's lips trembled and she burst into tears, feeling like an idiot, but Rachel's arms slipped around her and the tiny diva rested her chin on Quinn's shoulder, just holding her.

"You are beautiful," Quinn sobbed. "I just want you to believe that, I just want to love you and make you see how beautiful you are."

"Okay, okay," Rachel soothed, rubbing Quinn's back. "I love you, Quinn, it's okay, don't cry."

"I don't want anyone to hurt you, _ever_," Quinn growled, and Rachel drew back a little, startled by the determined look in the girl's eyes. "I could have killed him. I _would have_."

"Yes, well," Rachel said shakily, "I'm glad you didn't. I'm not sure how I would feel about conjugal visits to the Lima Women's Correctional Facility."

"You wouldn't visit me?" Quinn smirked.

Rachel rolled her eyes again. "I didn't say that." She smiled then, tucking her head back onto Quinn's shoulder.

"We should go home," Quinn said, as much as she didn't want to. She was glad it was the weekend, and they didn't have to worry about getting to school on time.

"Mm," Rachel hummed, but made no move to get up.

"The sun's coming up. Don't you want to see it? I've heard it can be very romantic."

Rachel shrugged. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather just sit here and cuddle with my totally awesome girlfriend."

Quinn beamed at hearing the word "girlfriend" on Rachel's lips. "Huh," she said slowly. "Sounds like a lucky girl. Do I know her?"

"You might," Rachel said, and poked her side, chuckling when Quinn squealed and tried to pull away. "She's pretty damn amazing. And I love her… so much. Maybe always have."

Quinn held Rachel tighter, nuzzling her face into the girl's soft, fragrant hair.

"Pretty sure she loves you, too… more than you know."

Rachel didn't answer, though; she'd fallen asleep in Quinn's arms.

Quinn just smiled and stroked Rachel's hair as she watched a new day dawn over Lima, Ohio.

When she made it back to her house after dropping off Rachel, her mother was in the living room waiting for her, a set expression on her face. Quinn sighed and moved to stand in front of her, knowing that if she simply went upstairs to her room, she'd be delaying the inevitable and making it worse.

"Where have you been?" her mother asked, but she didn't sound angry.

Still, the question irritated Quinn, and she shrugged, biting out the answer before she could hold it back. "Out, just like you. How's dad?"

She smirked inwardly at the startled look on her mother's face.

"Quinn," Judy Fabray began, then stopped. She shook her head and patted the couch next to her.

Against her better judgment, Quinn sat.

"I love your father," her mother said quietly, and her daughter was struck by the wounded tone in her voice. "I wanted so much to make it work. Unfortunately, he didn't feel the same, since _she_ was there when I got to the hotel last night. Your father told me in no uncertain terms that he was done with us, as a family."

Quinn's eyes widened, and her mother laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"Oh, he assured me that the three of us would be well cared for, monetarily, but not to expect him to go, oh, what were his words? 'Showing up at any weddings or family reunions.' He's taking his little floozy and moving to California next month."

"Oh." Quinn nodded. She knew she was supposed to be hurt, but she was more relieved at the idea of never having to deal with Russell Fabray ever again. She figured that it _would_ hurt, at some point, but right now all she could think about was Rachel, and the sad look in her mother's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mom," she said, and she meant it.

Her mother smiled and wiped her eyes, then gave Quinn a small hug. "So… how about you? Where were you?"

"Um…" Quinn decided to just tell the truth. "Rachel called and asked me to take her to the park."

Her mother cocked her head at her daughter. "It's 6 a.m., what time did she call?"

"At four-fifteen."

"That's not very safe, is it?"

Quinn shrugged. "It was fine. We just sat and talked." _And kissed_, she thought, smiling at the memory.

Judy Fabray noticed the smile, and her brow furrowed. "Quinn… are you and Rachel…?" she stopped.

Quinn steeled herself, a chill running through her. She had no idea where she'd go if this ended badly, but she couldn't deny Rachel, not when the last few hours had been so amazing.

"I don't know," Quinn said hesitantly. "I just know that I love her, Mom. And I know you don't agree with it but—"

Her mother held up her hand, stopping Quinn's ramble before it got started. She sighed. "I don't know if I agree with it or not," she said. "But you're a lot more mature than I've given you credit for, Quinnie. And if you love Rachel and Rachel loves you, then, I can't stand in the way of that. Not when my own track record has gone to hell in a handbasket."

Quinn's mouth dropped open and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask the woman next to her who the hell she was and what had she done with Quinn's mother, but Mrs. Fabray's eyes were twinkling in amusement and Quinn figured that this was a very good time not to press her luck.

Instead, she simply hugged her mother fiercely, then ran upstairs to throw herself on her bed and try to make sense of the last few hours. Before she drifted off to a peaceful, dreamless sleep, her last thought was of Rachel, and the memory of soft lips pressed against hers.

That weekend Quinn was aggravated at not being able to talk to or see Rachel, since the girl had texted her that her fathers were taking her on an antiquing excursion; Quinn's mother had laughed when Quinn grumbled that her fathers had never taken such an interest in Rachel before, so she didn't see why they had to start the minute she and Rachel had begun dating.

But Monday eventually rolled around and Quinn barely avoided a speeding ticket, she was in such a hurry to get to school. She was aggravated that she had Cheerios practice beforehand, but her heart leapt when she noticed, from the top of the pyramid, a solitary figure sitting in the bleachers.

A small girl with brown curls cascading over her shoulders, holding a sheaf of papers in her hand, but her eyes were trained on the field. As soon as Quinn busted out the required mile around the track before Coach would dismiss them, she jogged towards her bag and sucked down the last dregs of water from her bottle, then started to make her way towards the bleachers – and Rachel.

"Oh, hold up, there, Q," Santana grinned, catching her elbow and pulling her back. "Brittany and I think we should go with you, just to make sure you don't do anything inappropriate on – or under – the bleachers with Berry."

Quinn whirled around to glare at her, but Santana winked, a smile on her face, and Brittany giggled.

"Santana just wants to check on Rachel," the tall blonde girl said happily, ignoring the exasperated look her girlfriend sent her way. "She likes Rachel, but she doesn't want to admit it."

"Luckily I have you to do it for me," Santana grumbled, then kissed Brittany when the girl pouted, bringing a smile back to both their faces.

"Hi!" Rachel beamed at Quinn when she saw her, but the smile wavered when she caught sight of Santana and Brittany.

"Hi… Santana, Brittany…" She looked at Quinn, who smiled her reassurance.

"Hi, Rachel!" Brittany bounced over and hugged her. Rachel laughed a little, and was astonished when Brittany sat next to her and Santana sat on the other side.

"So, Berry," Santana drawled, then fell silent.

"Yes?"

Santana looked around to make sure no one else was in earshot, then nudged Rachel with her shoulder. "Pretty cool you're doing all right now. If you ever need anything else, you know where to find us."

Rachel nodded, slowly, the smile slowly returning to her face. "Yes," she said seriously. "Yes, I do. And.. thank you. For… everything."

Santana stood up. "Don't mention it. I never pass up a chance to kick someone's ass. Oh, and Berry?"

"Yes?" she said again.

Santana grinned. "Take care of Q."

With that, Santana extended her pinky to Brittany, who linked quickly, and the two Cheerios walked off, leaving Quinn staring after them and wondering if she had entered the Twilight Zone.

"Hi, Quinn."

Quinn turned around and sat next to Rachel, smiling shyly. "Hi, Rachel."

"So…" Rachel looked down at her hands, held tightly in her lap. "Quinn, I need to tell you something."

Quinn's heart sank. Rachel was breaking up with her.

"Okay."

"My feelings for you… have changed." Rachel's voice was soft.

"Okay." She closed her eyes against the onslaught of tears she knew would be coming.

They flew open though, when she felt Rachel's mouth on hers, and Rachel's arms slipping around her waist, holding on to her.

Rachel's eyes were twinkling as she pulled away, and Quinn felt her mouth twisting into a goofy grin.

"How have they changed?" Quinn asked.

It was Rachel's turn to look shy. "I think… I love you more than I did two days ago. Is that… is that possible?"

"It has to be," Quinn breathed, lifting Rachel onto her lap and cuddling her. "Because I feel the same way."

Rachel snuggled her head onto Quinn's shoulder. "We're doomed, aren't we?"

Quinn nodded, leaning back against the bleachers, Rachel warm and heavy against her.

"Hopelessly."

She felt Rachel smile against her neck.

"Good."

They spent the day being "sickening," as Santana later told Quinn, but with a smile on her face; evidently she and Rachel hadn't been able to stop smiling at each other in their classes, or managing to somehow brush their hands together as they passed in the hallway. Quinn noticed that a few times, other Cheerios looked at her oddly, as did a few of the other jocks, but all she had to do was snarl at them and they would back off. She wasn't ready to come out as a lesbian, yet, but she was perfectly content to come out as Rachel Berry's protector, and there'd be hell to pay if anyone decided to cross her.

There was glee practice after school, and Quinn took up her normal spot next to Brittany, grinning a little when the blonde Cheerio tucked her head against Santana's shoulder. She caught Santana's eye and winked; the Latina blushed then shrugged. Really, Santana only teased Quinn because she knew that she and Brittany were just as hopelessly doomed. Quinn was just relieved to have someone who finally understood.

Mr. Schue was about ten minutes late to glee, which wasn't all that normal, but today, he seemed abnormally excited, as he stood in front of the group and clapped his hands for their attention.

"I have a surprise for you today," he announced.

"You're not going to rap again, are you?" Puck asked, and the rest of the clubbers laughed.

Schuester shook his head, grinning. "Ha, ha. No. I won't make you suffer through that again. But, I have someone outside who would like to join glee, if you guys would welcome them."

"It better not be that fucker St. James," Santana mumbled, and Quinn nodded at her in silent agreement. She turned though, hearing the gasps of the other club members, her own mouth falling open when she saw Rachel walking through the door and into the choir room.

She stood in front of the piano nervously, looking at each of them in turn, her eyes at last landing on Quinn. Quinn leaned forward a little, smiling at her with tears in her eyes.

"I know that I've been gone a while," Rachel said softly, "And I know that some of you may not want me back. But I promise if you let me in the group again, I won't take all the solos and I'll _try_ not to be as obnoxious as I usually am." She faltered, then took a deep breath. "But I'll let you reserve your opinion until after I've… auditioned. I told Mr. Schue that I wouldn't come back unless _everyone_—" Several people looked pointedly at Kurt, who sank down a little in his seat.

"Unless everyone agreed. So, if it's ok, I'd like to start now?"

Mr. Schuester nodded, and Rachel handed her sheet music to Brad. She leaned against the piano to steady herself, and kept her eyes locked on Quinn as she began to sing.

_You are the world within the world that I exist  
You are the touch that just won't fade  
You are the end and beginning of each and every day  
You are the reason I stay sane  
It's hard to see beautiful  
Oh, it's hard to see beautiful  
In your own eyes  
But you make me beautiful  
For the very first time_

Quinn heard herself whimper and she blushed furiously; she felt warmth enclose her fingers and she glanced down at the hand in hers, then up at Santana, who just smiled and tipped her head at Rachel. Quinn refocused, even though it was difficult to see through the tears.

_Does anybody know what it's like  
To feel larger than life  
To look deep in your soul  
And know you're not alone  
Does anybody know how it feels  
To find something that's real  
And make it your own  
That's when you know that you found home  
Home  
You found home  
Home…_

_Oh, it's hard to feel beautiful  
Oh, it's hard to feel beautiful in your own skin  
But you make me  
You make me beautiful  
Over and over again…_

Rachel trailed off then and the club sat, stunned, because the small girl was crying, tears rolling off her face and dripping onto the floor, and several of them noticed who she was staring at, and the fact that the other girl – the _girl_ who was _Quinn_ – was crying as well, a smile on her face that they'd never quite seen before.

Something was definitely going on, though they didn't know what, and they weren't sure that they cared, because Sectionals was coming up and Rachel's voice had been the best that they'd had, which was why Kurt suddenly sat up straight in his chair and said, quietly, "I have no objections to this audition."

Rachel's mouth dropped open a little, even wider as slowly, each member of the club echoed Kurt's sentiments, and Quinn was beaming at her as Schuester welcomed Rachel back into glee, and then she was coming up the risers to sit in the empty seat next to Quinn.

Her body was shaking, and Quinn slipped her arm around Rachel and pulled the girl closer to her, holding her.

"I love you," she whispered into Rachel's ear, and Rachel just smiled, entwining their fingers on Quinn's lap, some of the fire of competition returning to her eyes as she listened to Schuester toss out song ideas for Sectionals.

Quinn was home. Glee was home.

Rachel was _home_.


	6. Chapter 6

_Three months later_

Rachel had loudly protested Quinn's plans to forgo prom to stay at Rachel's and help redecorate her room, but secretly, she thought she'd fallen even more in love with the girl when she'd suggested it. To be honest she hadn't wanted to go anyway; it would have meant trying to pick out a dress that Kurt or anyone else wouldn't make fun of, and Rachel really didn't know if she was up for putting herself out on display at a dance.

Plus, she kind of had other plans that Quinn didn't know about, yet.

Quinn didn't really "help," though, unless sitting on the bed patiently handing Rachel everything that was in the box she normally kept under the bed counted as help. But Rachel was happy, flitting around as she placed this here and that there, humming as she went, so Quinn was content just to watch.

What did the prom hold for _her_, anyway? She knew that Brittany and Santana weren't going, either, because, unbeknownst to the sweet blonde cheerleader, she was getting proposed to that night. Santana had been one huge ball of nerves all day, prompting Quinn to tease her about being pathetic, just as Santana had teased her before that first afternoon at Rachel's house.

The rest of the glee club would be going, but Quinn secretly still harbored resentment for their indifferent treatment of Rachel both before _and_ after Karofsky, which she regretted feeling. After all, _she_ had been the worst of the worst, if they were keeping tabs. But she didn't want Rachel to be subjected to their false smiles and the whispers behind her back, nor was she keen on seeing Finn _or_ Puck. She reckoned she'd go postal if she went and saw Karofsky there, so, no, prom was overrated, and staying at home with Rachel while her dads were out of town was _better_.

Rachel stood back as Quinn pinned the last playbill onto a spot on the bulletin board that Rachel couldn't reach, tilting her head to admire her handiwork.

"It's missing something," Rachel said.

"What?" Quinn said, confused and a little hurt. "Did I do something wrong?"

Her eyes narrowed when Rachel rolled hers.

"No, for goodness' sake."

Rachel swiftly pinned a picture of herself and Quinn in the middle of the bulletin board. "Ah, there we are: the most important piece in this room."

"Oh, so you prefer a picture over the real thing, then?" Quinn joked, to cover up how much she wanted to cry, she was _so damn in love_ with that girl.

Rachel turned and unceremoniously shoved Quinn onto the bed, ignoring the squeal of indignation and climbing up next to her, tucking her head against Quinn's neck. "The real thing is so much better," she said, brushing a strand of golden blonde hair out of her girlfriend's eyes. "Especially since…" She trailed off, a faraway expression that Quinn hadn't seen in a while returning to her face.

"Especially since what?" she prompted, kissing Rachel tenderly.

"Especially since I still sometimes think I don't deserve you."

"You do, though."

Rachel gave her a small smile. "I'm still not completely okay, Quinn."

"And I'm still here."

"I'm going to have bad days."

"I'll be there for your bad days, if you'll be there for mine."

"I have scars you can't see."

"I don't have to see them to love them."

"I'm always going to love musicals, and I'm always going to be loud, obnoxious, and bossy."

"I'm always going to roll my eyes at the musicals, tell you to stop being a jerk, and to stop telling me what to do. But I'll always kiss you afterwards."

"I have a hundred reasons why this will never work. Written down, Quinn."

"Give me the list and I'll burn it."

"I can be very stubborn in an argument."

"I never concede defeat."

"Not conceding defeat is going to get you in trouble."

"I love you, too."

Rachel laughed then, a real laugh that seemed to come from somewhere deep, bubbling up and shaking her body, and Quinn smiled, nuzzling the girl's nose before she kissed her.

"Do you remember the day that you texted me in English class?"

It was a vague question, but of course Quinn knew exactly what Rachel was talking about. She kissed her cheek in response.

"You told me I wasn't ugly."

Quinn hummed low in her throat, pressing her cheek against Rachel and just breathing in her scent.

"Why?"

"Because you're beautiful," Quinn shrugged. "You were sitting there writing and drawing about how ugly you thought you were, and I was sitting there daydreaming about reciting a Pablo Neruda poem to you." She grinned sheepishly, feeling the flush rise up to her ears. "I _can_ be a dork sometimes."

Rachel nodded and snuggled deeper into Quinn. "But you're my dork."

Quinn smiled and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of Rachel in her arms.

"Yes, I am."

"Will you?"

She cracked an eyelid open. "Will I what?"

"Tell me a poem."

Quinn pursed her lips. "It was just a stupid daydream, Rachel."

"Please?" Rachel stuck out her lower lip and batted her eyelashes, knowing that Quinn could never resist it.

True to form, Quinn sighed melodramatically and shook her head, but snuggled Rachel closer. "You won't laugh?"

"Never."

She nodded and searched her mind, then started. "'I have named you Queen,'" she murmured into Rachel's ear. "'There are taller than you, taller. There are purer than you, purer. There are lovelier than you, lovelier. But you are the Queen. When you go through the streets, no one recognizes you. No one sees your crystal crown, no one looks at the carpet of red gold you tread as you pass, the nonexistent carpet. And when you appear all the rivers sound in my body, bells shake the sky, and a hymn fills the world. Only you and I, only you and I, my love. Listen to me.'"

Quinn stilled, embarrassed. Rachel sniffled and buried her head in Quinn's neck, and the blonde girl was startled to feel the wetness of tears. "Rachel—"

"Quinn Fabray, closet romantic, who knew?" Rachel mumbled, squeezing her tighter. "I love you."

Quinn smiled in relief, and kissed the top of her head. "I love you too, baby."

"A few months ago, I never would have dreamed… _this_," Rachel gestured to herself and Quinn, snuggled together. "I never believed that I would find someone to really love me, for me, and not have… conditions on that love. And I sure as hell never believed that the one person who would show me unconditional love would be _Quinn Fabray_."

"Maybe I'm not Quinn Fabray," she deadpanned. "Maybe I'm just a figment of your imagination."

Rachel snorted. "In that case, I would be more than willing to take up residence in a padded room. I hear they have impeccable acoustics."

Quinn groaned at the Berry-ism, but whined when Rachel pulled away from her.

She got up, moving to stand in front of the mirror as she had so many times before. Quinn sat on the edge of the bed, just watching while Rachel's eyes roved over every inch of her body.

Quinn knew full well the struggle that still existed there; the fear Rachel had of looking at herself in the mirror and finding herself lacking. Every so often she would catch Rachel staring down at her hands, flexing her fingers in and out, in and out, tongue just barely peeking out of her mouth as she concentrated, trying to find any flaw that existed, anything that would make the harsh moniker of "manhands" accurate.

She knew that Rachel craved hearing "I love you" as many times as Quinn let it issue from her lips, knew that she _needed_ to hear it because still, somewhere, in the back of her mind, Rachel was afraid that it was all a joke, and she'd wake up the next morning covered in ice and corn syrup. Quinn knew that Rachel hadn't wanted sex yet because she was afraid to be naked in front of her, even though they hadn't discussed sex at all.

She knew that Rachel couldn't get enough of Quinn telling her that she was beautiful, that she was amazing, that she could sing _so much better_ than Mercedes or Kurt, and that there was no way that Juilliard wouldn't accept her, and if they did she'd personally go to New York and burn the school to the ground.

Quinn knew all these things, and wished it were different. She wished Rachel had never hooked up with Karofsky, wished that he had never hurt her, wished that he had never divested Rachel of the last remnants of her confident self.

She wished she had never played a part in tearing Rachel so low that she had thought _Dave Karofsky_ was a representation of love.

But wishes are useless, and all Quinn had was time. She hoped it was enough for Rachel to begin to see herself as Quinn saw her.

Amazing.

Finally, Quinn got up, wrapping her arms around Rachel from behind and resting her chin on the girl's shoulder, staring at their reflection – light against dark, short against tall, brown mixing with hazel.

"What are you thinking?" She asked softly, a little afraid of the answer. Rachel had grown by leaps and bounds in the last few months, and Quinn wasn't looking forward to a setback.

But Rachel smiled, blushing a little, and casting her eyes to her feet. "I was thinking that I want you."

Quinn smiled at her in the mirror and kissed her cheek. "You have me, baby."

Rachel shook her head. "No, Quinn. I mean, I _want_ you." Catching Quinn's shocked expression, she moved to squeeze her girlfriend's hands gently. "Tonight."

Quinn's breath quickened as she took in the implication of those words. Besides knowing that Rachel was still hesitant about being completely naked in front of her, she and Rachel hadn't really discussed taking their relationship to the next level; Quinn knew that her girlfriend wouldn't be ready for such intimacy for a while, and she was content just to have Rachel in her arms every night, even if they didn't have sex. So… why had Rachel changed her mind? Why was that night so important? Quinn asked her.

Rachel still had the smile on her face, growing more loving when she heard Quinn's question. Still looking at her girlfriend in the mirror, Rachel lifted her hand and kissed it gently.

"Because," she said simply, turning in Quinn's arms. "I feel beautiful."

Quinn's hand flew to her mouth as the tears began to course down her cheeks. Rachel chuckled softly, standing on tiptoe in order to touch Quinn's forehead with her lips.

"Thank you, Quinn."

Quinn shook her head, laughing in spite of her tears. "No, baby – thank _you_."

There was so much behind the statement, so much that neither girl was sure two words could encompass it all. For Quinn, it meant thank you for seeing me; thank you for showing me who I was, and who I can be; thank you for forgiving me. For Rachel, it meant thank you for saving me; thank you for showing me what real beauty is; thank you for believing in me.

For both of them, it meant thank you for loving me.

And then Quinn was leading Rachel to the bed, staring at her as if she was the only woman she needed, the only woman she would ever need, and as they lay down with Quinn's warmth sliding on top of Rachel, and soft lips pressed together, they both knew it was true.

"Rachel?" Quinn breathed, her mouth still inches from Rachel's.

"Baby, are you… are you _sure_?" she asked uncertainly. "It… baby, the first time, it hurts. And I don't want…"

_I don't want you to think of him_.

She'd forever believe in Rachel's sixth sense, because the girl brought her hands up to cup the back of Quinn's head, drawing the blonde girl down to her for another kiss.

"I won't," she said softly. "I know it might hurt, but I know that I trust you. Please, Quinn." She moved her hands to clasp Quinn's fingers, bringing them to the buttons of her shirt.

"Make love to me."

She nodded, her heart in her throat and hands shaking as she slowly undid the buttons, eyes locked on Rachel's as she slowly pulled the shirt off her body.

Quinn dared to look down, and her breath stilled in her lungs.

She was _beautiful._

Quinn had imagined Rachel naked, a shameless number of times when she was lying alone in her bed at home, in desperate need of love and release. But it was _nothing_ compared to the real thing, Rachel underneath her, open and vulnerable, brown eyes awash with want and a little fear.

Quinn dipped her head to kiss her, quickly.

"Beautiful," she murmured against Rachel's lips, allowing one hand to trail over the expanse between Rachel's breasts, down her stomach, feeling the way the muscles quivered at her touch.

"My god, Rachel, you're so _beautiful_…"

Tears had begun streaking down Rachel's face as Quinn slowly took in every inch of her, eyes drinking in the tan skin, the gentle swell of breasts peaked by rosy, stiff nipples. She dared to kiss the hollow of Rachel's throat, blinking back her own tears when the girl beneath her sighed, tangling her fingers in Quinn's hair and holding her close. She traced her mouth over the length of Rachel's collarbone, first one side then the other, tiny kisses and softer licks.

Remembering the harsh blues and black of bruises, she ghosted her lips over every place she had seen them, willing that every bad memory Rachel held would dissolve at her touch, resolved to keep touching, keep kissing, until everything that Karofsky and so many others – including herself – had vanished, replaced with love and care. Quinn kissed her softly, tenderly, painful images dancing in her head and the desperate _need_ to erase months – _years_ – of the torture Rachel had borne from the indifference of others.

Quinn Fabray would never again be _indifferent_ to Rachel Berry

"You're _incredible_," she murmured, a note of awe in her voice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she inched her way over Rachel until she was straddling her waist, her weight held up mostly by her hands, as Quinn's eyes met Rachel's again, silently asking.

Rachel nodded, her lip caught between her teeth.

Quinn released some of the weight from her hands and shaking arms, so that they were more fully pressed together; she was unable to stop a quiet moan that issued from her at the touch of shorts against jeans, and she blushed, catching a glint of lust sparkling in Rachel's eyes. She lowered herself so that her forearms were on either side of Rachel's head, capturing the girl's mouth with hers.

Rachel leaned up into the kiss; Quinn blinked in surprise when she felt Rachel's mouth open slightly, but it was effortless, natural, slipping her tongue inside and meeting Rachel's. Both girls moaned when Quinn unconsciously ground her center into Rachel's at the contact.

Quinn broke the kiss long enough to rest her forehead against Rachel's, hazel eyes meeting brown, both with a sparkle neither had seen. But Rachel's soon took on an expression of uncertainty, and once again she worried her lower lip.

"Baby?" Quinn questioned.

"Am I… am I okay? Am I… pretty enough?"

Quinn shook her head and slipped off Rachel, tears dotting her eyelashes. She cupped Rachel's cheek in her hand, turning the girl's face towards her, as Quinn's other hand carefully slid down to the button of Rachel's jeans.

Rachel's eyes widened and she stared at Quinn.

"You're beautiful," Quinn said, determined to say it all night, every night, until Rachel believed it.

"Let me show you, Rach… let me show you how beautiful I think you are. Please?"

Rachel took a deep breath, then nodded. "Okay," she whispered. "But… can you…" She trailed off.

"Can I what?" Quinn kissed her.

Rachel blushed. "Can you take your clothes off?"

Quinn giggled a little, blushing herself, before stripping off her teeshirt, then reaching behind to unclasp her bra. She felt self-conscious but let it fall; she avoided Rachel's eyes as she raised her hips to shimmy out of her shorts and panties, leaving her naked next to the small diva.

"Wow," Rachel breathed before she could stop herself. "Quinn… my god, you're _gorgeous_." She raised her hand, trailing her fingertips down the other girl's stomach.

Quinn shivered at the touch. "You think so?"

"I know so," Rachel answered seriously, pressing their lips together. "Gorgeous."

Quinn smiled, a tear falling down her cheek, before she busied herself gently unbuttoning Rachel's jeans. Rachel raised her hips, her eyes never leaving Quinn's, as the girl slipped them off, then rested her fingers against the waistband of Rachel's cotton panties.

Rachel swallowed hard, but lifted herself slightly into Quinn's touch.

Quinn splayed her hands, allowing her last four fingers to draw the fabric down as her thumbs stayed comfortingly on Rachel's skin: hipbones, soft thighs, knees, ankles, until she discarded Rachel's underwear with the heap of other clothes on the floor.

Rachel's scent hit her fully, and Quinn's jaw dropped at the revelation of the girl displayed next to her.

Years of mornings on the elliptical had paid off, from Rachel's muscular arms to the taut plane of her stomach; legs that seemed to go on for miles even for such a small diva. The merest patch of dark, wiry curls at her center, and Quinn's fingers flexed of their own volition, even as she licked her lips. She traced Rachel's body with her eyes, back up until they landed on Rachel's face.

Rachel was watching her intently, the same uncertainty apparent in her expression. Quinn couldn't help but kiss her again, then pulled her girlfriend until they were lying flush with each other, warm skin pressed against warm skin, and both of them gasped at the sensation.

Quinn's hands were on Rachel's back, holding the girl to her, fingers stroking, soothing, spelling out a word over and over, even as she didn't realize it.

Love.

Their kisses were unhurried, gentle; Quinn wouldn't allow for anything else, being terrified that one false motion would send the other girl scurrying away from her, and she knew she'd never be able to live with herself if that happened.

Eventually, though, Rachel was gasping a little into Quinn's mouth, and her hips moved involuntarily when Quinn's hand had meandered down to her lower back, one fingertip tracing along her spine. Quinn smiled into Rachel's lips, bringing her right hand around to rest on Rachel's thigh.

"You're sure?" she asked again. "You can say no, and I won't be mad."

"Please, Quinn," Rachel begged. "I want you. I _need_ to know that you think I'm beautiful."

Quinn nodded, pressing their lips together as her hand moved further south until she gently cupped wetness.

Rachel's moan was low, guttural – as was Quinn's when Rachel took her own hand and repeated Quinn's action.

"You're so wet," Rachel said, wonder in her voice. "You feel so amazing… I never thought… I didn't know it was like this."

Quinn nuzzled her cheek. "It's what seeing you like this does to me." Slowly she extended her index finger, sliding it in between Rachel's soft folds, marveling at how Rachel's eyelids fluttered when that finger found her clit.

"You're just so beautiful… I can't be anything but wet for you."

They fell silent then – at least in speech – content to just kiss and feel each other, relishing this most intimate contact. Quinn's finger stroked and teased, rubbed and soothed, and soon she saw that Rachel's hips were thrusting gently in time with her movements, and she wondered…

Slowly, carefully, she slid her finger towards Rachel's entrance.

Rachel's hips jerked and her eyes snapped shut; Quinn stilled.

"Are you okay?"

Rachel's eyes opened. She grinned, and tenderly, she pressed two fingers inside Quinn easily, up to the knuckles.

Quinn gasped, pushing herself into the touch. "I—guess you're okay," she said shakily with a laugh. She grew serious then, her finger circling Rachel.

"I just don't want…"

"Quinn." Rachel kissed her, nipping at her lips, and Quinn groaned when Rachel's fingers withdrew, only to thrust back in, deeper.

"I _want_ it. I want _you_. Please."

Quinn nodded. Taking a deep breath, she slipped her finger inside Rachel. They felt the barrier at the same time and Quinn hesitated.

Rachel's other hand clutched at her shoulder, nails digging in mercilessly, and Quinn winced, but she didn't care.

"Hold on to me, baby," she said quietly. She lowered her lips to Rachel's, murmuring, "I'm catch you, I'll always catch you," as she pushed her finger further.

Rachel hissed and her grip tightened, her face twisting in pain, tears escaping from her closed eyelids and streaking down her cheeks.

"I know, I know," Quinn kissed away each of the tears as they fell, her hand slack and limp against Rachel's center. "I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry."

Rachel took a few heaving breaths before opening her eyes and nodding at Quinn.

"Don't stop," was all she said.

Quinn nestled her cheek against Rachel's before her finger began its slow thrusts, gentle until she saw that Rachel had stopped wincing, and that her mouth had opened into a small "o," her hips beginning to move to meet each thrust.

"Oh, god," Rachel breathed, her voice soft and high, sending shivers down Quinn's spine. "Quinn, you feel so good…"

"So do you," Quinn said, groaning when Rachel's fingers resumed their thrusts, her palm sliding wetly over Quinn's clit.

They rocked together, tongues and lips and legs tangled, not roughly but not completely gentle, either. It was a little awkward and their position was slightly uncomfortable, but neither of them cared, because the only thought in their minds was _Rachel_ and _Quinn_ and _love_, and soon Rachel's free hand was clutching hard at Quinn's shoulder again.

Quinn almost stopped, but Rachel shook her head, breathing hard. "No… I'm… I'm…"

Quinn may have never made love to a girl before, but she knew her own body well enough to interpret the tightening of Rachel's muscles around her finger, and she drew the girl closer to her, feeling the heat rise at her center.

"Yes, baby," she whispered into Rachel's ear. "Come for me, Rachel; god, you're so pretty, you're so beautiful, baby, I love you, come for me…"

She curled her finger and Rachel broke with a low, keening cry, gasping Quinn's name over and over as her hips jerked into the blonde girl's hand.

Quinn felt her own body clench and she sagged against Rachel, her head on the other girl's shoulder; she came hard and fast, groaning Rachel's name.

Incapable of speech they fell onto the pillows, eyes closed and breathing ragged; Quinn felt that she must have dozed off because when next she opened her eyes she was met with Rachel at her side… crying.

"Oh, god," Quinn said frantically. "Rachel, I'm sorry, whatever I did, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

Rachel responded by pulling Quinn close to her, resting her head against the blonde girl's chest.

"I love you," she mumbled. "I love you so much, and you… you _love_ me."

"Well, yeah," Quinn said, a little confused. "Rachel—" She pushed the girl away slightly so she could look at her.

"Rachel… did you still not think I love you?"

"He said no one would ever love me," Rachel sniffled. "And you're just so beautiful and amazing, and you made me feel so wonderful just now, and I thought… how could you love _me_?"

Quinn's heart melted. She kissed Rachel softly, tenderly. "I love you," she said. "And if it takes the rest of my life, I'm going to make sure you know just how much."

Rachel smiled then. "Are you proposing, Quinn Fabray?" she teased.

Quinn giggled, feeling her face blush to the tips of her ears. "Ask me again in a couple of years, ok, baby?"

Rachel nodded and yawned, Quinn's unspoken promise not lost on her. "I will definitely be doing the asking," she said firmly. "I fully plan on proposing to you first."

Quinn nearly fell off the bed at the thrill that coursed through her body with Rachel's words, but she schooled it behind her trademark smirk. "I play to win, you know," she said.

Rachel met Quinn's eyes and kissed her. "Proposal or not, I think I've already won," she whispered lovingly, before both of them finally yielded to sleep.


End file.
